E  PI  LLA 


LIGHT 


LOUIS  TRACY 


THE    PILLAR    OF    LIGHT 


WHV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  MW 


Scale     of   reel 

THE    GULF    ROCK    L(CHTNOl/SC. 
SECTION. 


The 

Pillar  of  Light 

By 
Louis     Tracy 

Author  o)  "  The  Wings  of  the  Morning" 

i 

. 


"  And  the  rain  descended,  and  the 
floods  came,  and  the  winds  blew, 
and  beat  upon  that  house;  and 
it  jell  not;  for  it  was  founded 
upon  a  rock."  Matthew  mi:  25 


fforfc 
EDWARD   J.    CLODE 

156  Fifth  Avenue 
1904 


Copyright  1904,  by  EDWARD  J.  CLODE 

All  rights  reserved 

May,  1904 


Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass. 


CONTENTS 

I  Flotsam  1 

II  A  Christening  19 

III  The  Signal  37 
TV       The  Voice  of  the  Reef  57 

V  The  Hurricane  72 

VI  The  Middle  Watch  92 

VII  The  Lottery  110 

VIII  An  Interlude  124 

IX  Mrs.  Vansittart  141 

X  Pyne's  Progress  156 

XI  Mrs.   Vansittart's  Fear  172 

XII  Preparations  188 

XIII  Before  the  Dawn  206 

XIV  The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy  223 

XV  Enid's  New  Name  241 
XVT    Stephen  Brand  Explains  258 

XVII  Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home  281 

XVIII  Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament  301 

XIX  The  House  that  Stood  Upon  a  Rock  319 

213319O 


CHAPTER  I 
FLOTSAM 

ALL  night  long  the  great  bell  of  the  lighthouse, 
slung  to  a  stout  beam  projecting  seaward  be- 
neath the  outer  platform,  had  tolled  its  warning 
through  the  fog.     The  monotonous  ticking  of  the  clock- 
work attachment  that  governed  it,  the  sharp  and  livelier 
click  of  the  occulting  hood's  machinery,  were  the  only 
sounds  which  alternated  with  its  deep  boom.     The 
tremendous  clang  sent  a  thrill  through  the  giant  column 
itself   and  pealed  away  into  the  murky  void  with  a 
tremolo  of  profound  diminutions. 

Overhead,  the  magnificent  lantern,  its  eight-ringed 
circle  of  flame  burning  at  full  pressure,  illumined  the 
drifting  vapor  with  an  intensity  that  seemed  to  be  born 
of  the  sturdy  granite  pillar  of  which  it  was  the  fitting 
diadem.  Hard  and  strong  externally  as  the  everlasting 
rock  on  which  it  stood,  —  replete  within  with  burnished 
steel  and  polished  brass,  great  cylinders  and  powerful 
pumps,  —  the  lighthouse  thrust  its  glowing  torch  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  most  daring  wave.  Cold,  dour, 
defiant  it  looked.  Yet  its  superhuman  eye  sought  to 
pierce  the  very  heart  of  the  fog,  and  the  furnace-white 

[1] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

glare,  concentrated  ten  thousand-fold  by  the  encircling 
hive  of  the  dioptric  lens,  flung  far  into  the  gloom  a  sil- 
very cloak  of  moon-like  majesty. 

At  last  an  irresistible  ally  sprang  to  the  assistance  of 
the  unconquerable  light.  About  the  close  of  the  middle 
watch  a  gentle  breeze  from  the  Atlantic  followed  the 
tide  and  swept  the  shivering  wraith  landward  to  the 
northeast,  whilst  the  first  beams  of  a  June  sun  com- 
pleted the  destruction  of  the  routed  specter. 

So,  once  more,  as  on  the  dawn  of  the  third  day, 
the  waters  under  the  heaven  were  gathered  into  one 
place,  and  the  dry  land  appeared,  and  behold,  it  was 
good. 

On  the  horizon,  the  turquoise  rim  of  the  sea  lay  with 
the  sheen  of  folded  silk  against  the  softer  canopy  of  the 
sky.  Towards  the  west  a  group  of  islands,  to  which 
drifting  banks  of  mist  clung  in  melting  despair,  were 
etched  in  shadows  of  dreamy  purple.  Over  the  nearer 
sea-floor  the  quickly  dying  vapor  spread  a  hazy  pall 
of  opal  tints.  Across  the  face  of  the  waters  glistening 
bands  of  emerald  green  and  serene  blue  quivered  in 
fairy  lights.  The  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  threw  broad- 
cast a  golden  mirage  and  gilded  all  things  with  the  dumb 
gladness  of  an  English  summer's  day. 

A  man,  pacing  the  narrow  gallery  beneath  the  lan- 
tern, halted  for  a  moment  to  flood  his  soul  afresh  with  a 
beauty  made  entrancing  by  the  knowledge  that  a  few 
brief  minutes  would  resolve  it  into  maturer  and  more 
familiar  charms. 

He  was  engaged,  it  is  true,  in  the  unromantic  action 
[2] 


Flotsam 

of  filling  his  pipe,  —  a  simple  thing,  beloved  alike  of 
poets  and  navvies,  —  yet  his  eyes  drank  in  the  mute 
glory  of  the  scene,  and,  captive  to  the  spell  of  the  hour, 
he  murmured  aloud: 

"  Floating  on  waves  of  music  and  of  light, 
Behold  the  chariot  of  the  Fairy  Queen ! 
Celestial  coursers  paw  the  unyielding  air; 
Their  filmy  pennons  at  her  word  they  furl, 
And  stop  obedient  to  the  reins  of  light." 

The  small  door  beneath  the  glass  fane  was  open. 
The  worker  within,  busily  cleaning  an  eight-inch  burner, 
ceased  for  an  instant  and  popped  his  head  out. 

"  Did  you  hail  me  ?  "  he  inquired. 

The  matter-of-fact  words  awoke  the  dreamer.  He 
turned  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"To  be  exact,  Jim,  I  did  hail  somebody,  but  it  was 
Aurora,  Spirit  of  the  Dawn,  not  a  hard-bitten  sailor- 
man  like  you." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  cap'n.  I  thought  I  heard  you 
singin'  out  for  a  light." 

The  other  man  bent  his  head  to  shield  a  match  from 
a  puff  of  wind,  thus  concealing  from  his  companion  the 
gleam  of  amusement  in  his  eyes.  His  mate  sniffed  the 
fragrant  odor  of  the  tobacco  longingly,  but  the  Elder 
Brethren  of  the  Trinity  maintain  strict  discipline,  and 
he  vanished  to  his  task  without  a  thought  of  broken 
rules. 

He  left  a  piece  of  good  advice  behind  him. 

"  If  I  was  you,  cap'n,"  he  said,  "  I'd  turn  in.  Jones 
[3] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

is  feelin'  Al  this  mornin',  He  comes  on  at  eight. 
You  ought  to  be  dead  beat  after  your  double  spell 
of  the  last  two  days.  I'll  keep  breakfast  back 
until  three  bells  (9.30  A.M.),  an'  there's  fresh  eggs  an' 
haddick." 

"  Just  a  couple  of  whiffs,  Jim.    Then  I'll  go  below." 

Both  men  wore  the  uniform  of  assistant- keepers,  yet 
it  needed  not  their  manner  of  speech  to  reveal  that  one 
was  a  gentleman,  born  and  bred,  and  the  other  a  bluff, 
good-natured,  horny-handed  A.B.,  to  whom  new-laid 
eggs  and  recently  cured  fish  appealed  far  more  potently 
than  Shelley  and  a  summer  dawn  at  sea. 

He  who  had  involuntarily  quoted  "Queen  Mab" 
turned  his  gaze  seaward  again.  Each  moment  the 
scene  was  becoming  more  brilliant  yet  nearer  to  earth. 
The  far-off  islands  sent  splashes  of  gray,  brown  and 
green  through  the  purple.  The  rose  flush  on  the  ho- 
rizon was  assuming  a  yellower  tinge  and  the  blue  of  sky 
and  water  was  deepening.  Twenty  miles  away  to  the 
southwest  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  heralded  the  advent 
of  an  Atlantic  liner,  and  the  last  shreds  of  white  mist 
were  curling  forlornly  above  the  waves. 

The  presence  of  the  steamship,  a  tiny  dull  spot  on  the 
glowing  picture,  peopled  the  void  with  life  and  banished 
poetry  with  the  thinly  sheeted  ghosts  of  the  fog.  In  a 
little  more  than  an  hour  she  would  be  abreast  of  the 
Gulf  Rock  Light.  The  watcher  believed  —  was  almost 
certain,  in  fact — that  she  was  the  Princess  Royal,  home- 
ward bound  from  New  York  to  Southampton.  From 
her  saloon  deck  those  enthusiasts  who  had  risen  early 

[4] 


Flotsam 

enough  to  catch  a  first  glimpse  of  the  English  coast  were 
already  scanning  the  trimly  rugged  outlines  of  the 
Scilly  Isles,  and  searching  with  their  glasses  for  the 
Land's  End  and  the  Lizard. 

In  a  few  hours  they  would  be  in  Southampton;  that 
afternoon  in  London  —  London,  the  Mecca  of  the 
world,  from  which,  two  years  ago,  he  fled  with  a  loath- 
ing akin  to  terror.  The  big  ship  out  there,  panting 
and  straining  as  if  she  were  beginning,  not  ending,  her 
ocean  race  of  three  thousand  miles,  was  carrying  eager 
hundreds  to  the  pleasures  and  follies  of  the  great  city. 
Yet  he,  the  man  smoking  and  silently  staring  at  the 
growing  bank  of  smoke,  —  a  young  man,  too ;  handsome, 
erect,  with  the  clean,  smooth  profile  of  the  aristocrat, — 
had  turned  his  back  on  it  all,  and  sought,  and  found, 
peace  here  in  the  gaunt  pillar  on  a  lonely  rock. 

Strange,  how  differently  men  are  constituted.  And 
women!  Bah!  A  hard  look  came  into  his  eyes.  His 
mouth  set  in  a  stern  contempt.  For  a  little  while  his 
face  bore  a  steely  expression  which  would  have  amazed 
the  man  within  the  lantern,  now  singing  lustily  as  he 
worked. 

But  as  the  harp  of  David  caused  the  evil  spirit  to 
depart  from  Saul,  so  did  the  music  of  the  morn- 
ing chase  away  the  lurking  devil  of  memory  which 
sprang  upon  the  lighthouse-keeper  with  the  sight  of 
the  vessel. 

He  smiled  again,  a  trifle  bitterly  perhaps.  Behind 
him  the  singer  roared  genially: 

[5] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Soon  we'll  be  in  London  Town, 

Sing,  my  lads,  yeo  ho-o, 
And  see  the  King  in  his  golden  crown, 
Sing,  my  lads,  yeo  ho." 

The  man  on  the  platform  seemed  to  be  aroused  from 
a  painful  reverie  by  the  jingle  so  curiously  a  propos  to 
his  thoughts.  He  tapped  his  pipe  on  the  iron  railing, 
and  was  about  to  enter  the  lantern  —  and  so  to  the 
region  of  sleep  beneath  —  when  suddenly  his  glance, 
trained  to  an  acuteness  not  dreamed  of  by  folk  ashore, 
rested  on  some  object  seemingly  distant  a  mile  or  less, 
and  drifting  slowly  nearer  with  the  tide. 

At  this  hour  a  two-knot  current  swept  to  the  east 
around  and  over  the  treacherous  reef  whose  sunken 
fangs  were  marked  by  the  lighthouse.  In  calm  weather, 
such  as  prevailed  just  then,  it  was  difficult  enough  to 
effect  a  landing  at  the  base  of  the  rock,  but  this  same 
smiling  water-race  became  an  awful,  raging,  tearing 
fury  when  the  waves  were  lashed  into  a  storm. 

He  pocketed  his  pipe  and  stood  with  hands  clenched 
on  the  rail,  gazing  intently  at  a  white-painted  ship's 
life-boat,  with  a  broken  mast  and  a  sail  trailing  over 
the  stern.  Its  color,  with  the  sun  shining  on  it,  no  less 
than  the  vaporous  eddies  fading  down  to  the  surface  of 
the  sea,  had  prevented  him  from  seeing  it  earlier.  Per- 
haps he  would  not  have  noticed  it  at  all  were  it  not  for 
the  flashing  wings  of  several  sea-birds  which  accom- 
panied the  craft  in  aerial  escort. 

Even  yet  a  landsman  would  have  stared  insolently 
in  that  direction  and  declared  that  there  was  naught 

[6] 


Flotsam 

else  in  sight  save  the  steamer,  whose  tall  masts  and  two 
black  funnels  were  now  distinctly  visible.  But  the 
lighthouse  keeper  knew  he  was  not  mistaken.  Here 
was  a  boat  adrift,  forlorn,  deserted.  Its  contour  told 
him  that  it  was  no  local  craft  straying  adventurously 
from  island  or  mainland.  Its  unexpected  presence, 
wafted  thus  strangely  from  ocean  wilds,  the  broken 
spar  and  tumbled  canvas,  betokened  an  accident,  per- 
chance a  tragedy. 

"Jim!"  he  cried. 

His  mate,  engaged  in  shrouding  the  gleaming 
lenses  from  the  sun's  rays,  came  at  the  call.  He 
was  lame  —  the  result  of  a  wound  received  in  the 
Egyptian  campaign:  nevertheless,  he  was  quick  on 
his  feet. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  that  ?  " 

The  sailor  required  no  more  than  a  gesture.  He 
shaded  his  eyes  with  his  right  hand,  a  mere  shipboard 
trick  of  concentrating  vision  and  brain,  for  the  rising 
sun  was  almost  behind  him. 

"  Ship's  boat,"  he  answered,  laconically.  "  Collision, 
I  expect.  There's  bin  no  blow  to  speak  of  for  days. 
But  they're  gone.  Knocked  overboard  when  she  was 
took  aback  by  a  squall.  Unless  them  birds  — 

He  spoke  in  a  species  of  verbal  shorthand,  but  his 
meaning  was  clear  enough,  even  to  the  sentence  left 
unfinished.  The  craft  was  unde  no  control.  She 
would  drift  steadily  into  the  Bay  until  the  tide  turned, 
wander  in  an  aimless  circle  for  half  an  hour  thereafter, 
and  then,  when  the  ebb  restored  direction  and  force  to 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

the  current,  voyage  forth  again  to  the  fabled  realm  of 
Lyonnesse. 

For  a  little  while  they  stood  together  in  silence.  Jim 
suddenly  quitted  his  companion  and  came  back  with  a 
glass.  He  poised  it  with  the  precision  of  a  Bisley 
marksman,  and  began  to  speak  again,  jerkily : 

"Stove  in  forrard,  above  the  water-line.  Wouldn't 
live  two  minutes  in  a  sea.  Somethin'  lyin'  in  the  bows. 
Can't  make  it  out.  And  there's  a  couple  of  cormorants 
perched  on  the  gunwale.  But  she'll  pass  within  two 
hundred  yards  on  her  present  course,  an'  the  tide'll 
hold  long  enough  for  that." 

The  other  man  looked  around.  From  that  elevated 
perch,  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet  above  high-water 
mark,  he  could  survey  a  vast  area  of  sea.  Excepting 
the  approaching  steamer  —  which  would  flit  past  a 
mile  away  to  the  south  —  and  a  few  distant  brown 
specks  which  betokened  a  shoal  of  Penzance  fishing- 
smacks  making  the  best  of  the  tide  eastward  —  there 
was  not  a  sail  in  sight. 

"  I  think  we  should  try  and  get  hold  of  her,"  he  said. 

Jim  kept  his  eye  glued  to  the  telescope. 

"  'Tain't  worth  it,  cap'n.  The  salvage  '11  only  be  a 
pound  or  two,  not  but  what  an  extry  suvrin  comes  in 
useful,  an'  we  might  tie  her  up  to  the  buoy  on  the  off 
chance  until  the  relief  comes  or  we  signal  a  smack. 
But  what's  the  good  o'  talkin'  ?  We've  got  no  boat,  an' 
nobody 'd  be  such  a  fool  as  to  swim  to  her." 

"That  is  what  I  had  in  mind." 

Jim  lowered  the  glass. 

[8] 


Flotsam 

"  That's  the  fust  time  I've  ever  heard  you  say  a  d — d 
silly  thing,  Stephen  Brand." 

There  was  no  wavering  judgment  in  his  voice  now. 
He  was  angry,  and  slightly  alarmed. 

"  Why  is  it  so  emphatically  silly,  Jim  ?  "  was  the  smil- 
ing query. 

"How  d'ye  know  what's  aboard  of  her?  What's 
them  fowl  after  ?  What's  under  that  sail  ?  What's 
that  lyin'  crumpled  up  forrard?  Dead  men,  mebbe. 
If  they  are,  she's  convoyed  by  sharks." 

"  Sharks !  This  is  not  the  Red  Sea.  I  am  not  afraid 
of  any  odd  prowler.  Once  —  Anyhow,  I  am  going  to 
ask  Jones." 

"Jones  won't  hear  of  it." 

"That  is  precisely  what  he  will  do,  within  the  next 
minute.  Now,  don't  be  vexed,  Jim.  Stand  by  and 
sing  out  directions  if  needful  when  I  am  in  the  water. 
Have  no  fear.  I  am  more  than  equal  to  Leander  in  a 
sea  like  this." 

Jim,  who  trusted  to  the  head-keeper's  veto,  —  awed, 
too,  by  the  reference  to  Leander,  whom  he  hazily  as- 
sociated with  Captain  Webb,  —  made  no  rejoinder. 

He  focused  the  telescope  again,  gave  a  moment's 
scrutiny  to  the  steamer,  and  then  re-examined  the  boat. 
The  stillness  of  the  morning  was  solemn.  Beyond  the 
lazy  splash  of  the  sea  against  the  Gulf  Rock  itself,  and 
an  occasional  heavy  surge  as  the  swell  revealed  and 
instantly  smothered  some  dark  tooth  of  the  reef,  he 
heard  no  sound  save  the  ring  of  Stephen  Brand's  boots 
on  the  iron  stairs  as  he  descended  through  the  oil-room, 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

the  library  and  office,  to  the  first  bedroom,  in  the  lower 
bunk  of  which  lay  Mr.  Jones,  keeper  and  chief,  re- 
covering from  a  sharp  attack  of  sciatica. 

During  one  fearful  night  in  the  March  equinox, 
when  the  fierce  heat  of  the  lamp  within  and  the  icy 
blast  of  the  gale  without  had  temporarily  deranged 
the  occulting  machinery,  Jones  experienced  an  anxious 
watch.  Not  for  an  instant  could  he  forego  attendance 
on  the  lamp.  Owing  to  the  sleet  it  was  necessary  to 
keep  the  light  at  full  pressure.  The  surplus  oil,  driven 
up  from  the  tanks  by  weights  weighing  half  a  ton,  must 
flow  copiously  over  the  brass  shaft  of  the  burner,  or 
the  metal  might  yield  to  the  fervent  power  of  the  column 
of  flame. 

The  occulting  hood,  too,  must  be  helped  when  the 
warning  click  came,  or  it  would  jam  and  fail  to  fall 
periodically,  thus  changing  the  character  of  the  light, 
to  the  bewilderment  and  grave  peril  of  any  unhappy 
vessel  striving  against  the  exterior  turmoil  of  wind  and 
wave. 

So  Jones  passed  four  hours  with  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders in  the  temperature  of  a  Turkish  bath  and  the 
lower  part  of  his  body  chilled  to  the  bone. 

He  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the  time.  This  was  duty. 
But  at  intervals,  throughout  the  rest  of  his  life,  the 
sciatic  nerve  would  remind  him  of  that  lonely  watch. 
This  morning  he  was  convalescent  after  a  painful  im- 
mobility of  two  days. 

Watching  the  boat,  Jim  centered  her  in  the  telescopic 
field,  and  looked  anxiously  for  a  sharp  arrow-shaped 

[10] 


Flotsam 

ripple  on  the  surface  of  the  sea.  The  breeze  which 
had  vanquished  the  fog  now  kissed  the  smiling  water 
into  dimples,  and  his  keen  sight  was  perplexed  by  the 
myriad  wavelets. 

Each  minute  the  condition  of  affairs  on  board  be- 
came more  defined.  Beneath  some  oars  ranged  along 
the  starboard  side  he  could  see  several  tins,  such  as 
contain  biscuits  and  compressed  beef.  The  shapeless 
mass  in  the  bows  puzzled  him.  It  was  partly  covered 
with  broken  planks  from  the  damaged  portion  of  the 
upper  works,  and  it  might  be  a  jib-sail  fallen  there  when 
the  mast  broke.  The  birds  were  busy  and  excited. 
He  did  not  like  that. 

Nearly  half  an  hour  passed.  The  Princess  Royal,  a 
fine  vessel  of  yacht-like  proportions,  sprinting  for  the 
afternoon  train,  was  about  eight  miles  away,  sou'west 
by  west.  According  to  present  indications  steamer 
and  derelict  would  be  abreast  of  the  Gulf  Rock  Light 
simultaneously,  but  the  big  ship,  of  course,  would  give 
a  wide  berth  to  a  rock-strewn  shoal. 

At  last  the  lighthouse-keeper  heard  ascending  foot- 
steps. This  was  not  Stephen  Brand,  but  Jones.  Jim, 
whose  rare  irritated  moods  found  safety  in  stolid  silence, 
neither  spoke  nor  looked  around  when  his  chief  joined 
him,  binoculars  in  hand. 

Jones,  a  man  of  whitewash,  polish,  and  rigid  ad- 
herence to  framed  rules,  found  the  boat  instantly,  and 
recapitulated  Jim's  inventory,  eliciting  grunts  of  agree- 
ment as  each  item  was  ticked  off. 

A  clang  of  metal  beneath  caught  their  ears  —  the 
[11] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

opening  of  the  stout  doors,  forty  feet  above  high-water 
mark,  from  which  a  series  of  iron  rungs,  sunk  in  the 
granite  wall,  led  to  the  rocky  base. 

"Brand's  goin'  to  swim  out.  It's  hardly  worth 
while  signalin'  to  the  Land's  End,"  commented  Jones. 

No  answer.  Jim  leaned  well  over  and  saw  their 
associate,  stripped  to  his  underclothing,  with  a  leather 
belt  supporting  a  sheath-knife  slung  across  his  shoul- 
ders, climbing  down  the  ladder. 

This  taciturnity  surprised  Jones,  for  Jim  was  the 
cheeriest  nurse  who  ever  brought  a  sufferer  a  plate  of 
soup. 

"  It's  nothing  for  a  good  swimmer,  is  it  ? "  was  the 
anxious  question. 

"No.     It's  no  distance  to  speak  of." 

"  An'  the  sea's  like  a  mill-pond  ?  " 

"Ay,  it's  smooth  enough." 

"Don't  you  think  he  ought  to  try  it?  Every  fine 
mornin'  he  has  a  dip  off  the  rock." 

"  Well,  if  it's  all  right  for  him  an'  you  it's  all  right  for 
me." 

Jim  had  urged  his  plea  to  the  man  whom  it  chiefly 
concerned.  He  was  far  too  sporting  a  character  to 
obtain  the  interference  of  authority,  and  Jones,  whose 
maritime  experiences  were  confined  to  the  hauling  in 
or  paying  out  of  a  lightship's  cable,  had  not  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  lurking  danger  in  the  blue  depths. 

A  light  splash  came  to  them,  and,  a  few  seconds  later, 
Brand's  head  and  shoulders  swung  into  view.  After  a 
dozen  vigorous  breast  strokes  he  rolled  over  on  to  his 

[12] 


Flotsam 

side,  and  waved  his  left  hand  to  the  two  men  high  above 
him. 

With  a  sweeping  side  stroke  he  made  rapid  progress. 
Jones,  unencumbered  by  knowledge,  blew  through  his 
lips. 

"He's  a  wonderful  chap,  is  Brand,"  he  said,  con- 
tentedly. "It  licks  me  what  a  man  like  him  wants 
messin'  about  in  the  service  for.  He's  eddicated  up 
to  the  top  notch,  an'  he  has  money,  too.  His  lodgin's 
cost  the  whole  of  his  pay,  the  missus  says,  an'  that  kid 
of  his  has  a  hospital  nuss,  if  you  please." 

Jones  was  grateful  to  his  mates  for  their  recent  at* 
tentions.  He  was  inclined  to  genial  gossip,  but  Jim 
was  watching  the  boat  curving  towards  the  lighthouse. 
The  high  spring  tide  was  at  the  full.  So  he  only 
growled : 

"You  can  see  with  half  an  eye  he  has  taken  on  this 
job  for  a  change.  I  wish  he  was  in  that  blessed  boat." 

Jones  was  quite  certain  now  that  his  subordinate 
harbored  some  secret  fear  of  danger. 

"What's  up?"  he  cried.  "He'll  board  her  in  two 
ticks." 

On  no  account  would  the  sailor  mention  sharks. 
He  might  be  mistaken,  and  Jones  would  guffaw  at  his 
"deep-sea"  fancies.  Anyhow,  it  was  Brand's  affair. 
A  friend  might  advise;  he  would  never  tattle. 

The  head-keeper,  vaguely  excited,  peered  through 
his  glass.  Both  boat  and  swimmer  were  in  the  annular 
field.  Brand  had  resumed  the  breast  stroke.  The 
swing  of  the  tide  carried  the  broken  bow  towards  him. 

[13] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

He  was  not  more  than  the  boat's  length  distant  when 
he  dived  suddenly  and  the  cormorants  flapped  aloft. 
A  black  fin  darted  into  sight,  leaving  a  sharply  divided 
trail  in  the  smooth  patch  of  water  created  by  the  turn- 
ing of  the  derelict. 

Jones  was  genuinely  startled  now. 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  "what  is  it?" 

"A  shark!"  yelled  Jim.  "I  knew  it.  I  warned 
him.  Eh,  but  he's  game  is  the  cap'n." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  "  roared  Jones.     Under 
reversed  conditions  he  would  have  behaved  exactly  as . 
Jim  did. 

But  it  was  no  time  for  words.  The  men  peered  at 
the  sudden  tragedy  with  an  intensity  which  left  them 
gasping  for  breath.  More  than  two  hundred  yards 
away  in  reality,  the  magnifying  glasses  brought  this 
horror  so  close  that  they  could  see  —  they  almost 
thought  they  could  hear  —  its  tensely  dramatic  action. 
The  rapidly  moving  black  signal  reached  the  small 
eddy  caused  by  the  man's  disappearance.  Instantly  a 
great  sinuous,  shining  body  rose  half  out  of  the  water, 
and  a  powerful  tail  struck  the  side  of  the  boat  a  re- 
sounding whack. 

Jim's  first  expletive  died  in  his  throat. 

"  He's  done  it ! "  Jones  heard  him  say.  "  He's  ripped 
him.  Oh,  bully!  May  the  Lord  grant  there's  only 
one." 

For  a  single  instant  they  saw  the  dark  hair  and  face 
of  the  man  above  the  surface.  The  shark  whirled 
about  and  rushed.  Brand  sank,  and  again  the  giant 

[14] 


Flotsam 

man-eater  writhed  in  agonized  contortions  and  the  sea 
showed  masses  of  froth  and  dark  blotches.  The  flut- 
terings  of  the  birds  became  irregular  and  alarmed. 
Their  wheeling  flights  partly  obscured  events  below. 
The  gulls,  screeching  their  fright,  or  it  might  be  in- 
terest, kept  close  to  the  water,  and  the  cormorants 
sailed  in  circles  aloof. 

Jones  was  pallid  and  streaming  with  perspiration. 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for  fifty  quid,"  he 
groaned. 

"I  wouldn't  ha'  missed  it  for  a  hundred,"  yelped 
Jim.  "It's  a  fight  to  a  finish,  and  the  cap'n  '11  win. 
There  ain't  another  sea-lawyer  on  the  job,  an'  Brand 
knows  how  to  handle  this  one." 

Their  mate's  head  reappeared  and  Jim  relieved  the 
tension  by  a  mighty  shout: 

"He'll  swim  wild  now,  Brand.  Keep  out  of  his 
track." 

Sure  enough,  the  ugly  monster  began  to  thrash  the 
water  and  career  around  on  the  surface  in  frantic  con- 
vulsions. The  second  stab  of  the  knife  had  reached 
a  vital  part.  Brand,  who  perhaps  had  seen  a  Malay 
diver  handling  his  life-long  enemy,  coolly  struck  out 
towards  the  stern  of  the  boat.  The  shark,  churning 
the  sea  into  a  white  foam,  whirled  away  in  blind  pur- 
suit of  the  death  which  was  rending  him.  The  man, 
unharmed  but  somewhat  breathless,  clambered  over 
the  folds  of  the  sail  into  the  boat. 

"  Glory  be ! "  quavered  Jones,  who  was  a  Baptist. 

Jim  was  about  to  chant  his  thanks  in  other  terms 
[15] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

when  his  attention  was  caught  by  Brand's  curious 
actions. 

In  stepping  across  the  after  thwart  he  stopped  as 
though  something  had  stung  him.  His  hesitation  was 
momentary.  Pressing  his  left  hand  to  mouth  and  nose 
he  passed  rapidly  forward,  stooped,  caught  a  limp  body 
by  the  belt  which  every  sailor  wears,  and,  with  a  mighty 
effort,  slung  it  into  the  sea,  where  it  sank  instantly.  So 
the  shark,  like  many  a  human  congener  of  higher  in- 
tellect, had  only  missed  his  opportunity  by  being  too 
precipitate,  whilst  the  cormorants  and  gulls,  eyeing 
him  ominously,  did  not  know  what  they  had  lost. 

Then  the  man  returned  to  the  sail  and  peered  be- 
neath. Neither  of  the  onlookers  could  distinguish 
anything  of  special  interest  under  the  heavy  canvas 
sheet.  Whatever  it  was,  Brand  apparently  resolved  to 
leave  it  alone  for  the  moment. 

He  shipped  a  pair  of  oars,  and,  with  two  vigorous 
sweeps,  impelled  the  derelict  away  from  the  charnel- 
house  atmosphere  which  evidently  clung  to  it. 

Then  the  shark  engaged  his  attention.  It  was  float- 
ing, belly  upwards,  its  white  under-skin  glistening  in 
the  sunlight.  Two  long  gashes  were  revealed,  one 
transverse,  the  other  lengthwise,  proving  how  coolly 
and  scientifically  Brand  had  done  his  work.  An  occa- 
sional spasm  revealed  that  life  was  not  yet  extinct,  but 
the  furtive  attack  of  a  dogfish,  attracted  by  the  scent 
of  blood,  which  stirs  alike  the  denizens  of  air,  land  and 
ocean,  was  unresisted. 

The  rower  stood  up  again,  drove  a  boat-hook  into 
[16] 


Flotsam 

the  cruel  jaws,  and  lashed  the  stock  to  a  thorl-pin  with 
a  piece  of  cordage.  This  accomplished  to  his  satis- 
faction, he  looked  towards  the  Gulf  Rock  for  the  first 
time  since  he  drew  the  knife  from  its  sheath,  gave  a 
cheery  hand-wave  to  the  shouting  pair  on  the  balcony, 
and  settled  down  to  pull  the  recovered  craft  close  to 
the  rock. 

Jim  closed  the  telescope  with  a  snap. 

"  He  heaved  the  dead  man  overboard,"  he  announced, 
"so  there's  a  live  one  under  the  sail." 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  "  said  Jones,  whose  nerves 
were  badly  shaken. 

"Well,  you  saw  what  happened  to  the  other  pore 
devil.  Either  him  or  the  cap'n  had  to  go.  It  'ud  be 
the  same  if  there  was  a  funeral  wanted  aft.  Them 
there  birds  —  But  come  along,  boss.  Let's  give  him  a 
hand." 

They  hurried  down  to  the  iron-barred  entrance. 
Jones  shot  outward  a  small  crane  fitted  with  a  winch, 
in  case  it  might  be  needed,  whilst  the  sailor  climbed  to 
the  narrow  platform  of  rock  into  which  the  base-blocks 
of  the  lighthouse  were  sunk  and  bolted. 

Affording  but  little  superficial  space  at  low  water, 
there  was  now  not  an  inch  to  spare.  Here,  at  sea-level, 
the  Atlantic  swell,  even  in  calm  weather,  rendered 
landing  or  boarding  a  boat  a  matter  of  activity.  At 
this  stage  of  the  tide  each  wave  lapped  some  portion  of 
the  granite  stones  and  receded  quickly  down  the  slope 
of  the  weed-covered  rock. 

The  gulls  and  cormorants,  filling  the  air  with  raucous 
[17] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

cries,  were  rustling  in  rapid  flight  in  the  wake  of  the 
boat,  darting  ever  and  anon  at  the  water  or  making 
daring  pecks  at  the  floating  carcass. 

Soon  Brand  glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  measure 
his  distance.  With  the  ease  of  a  practised  oarsman  he 
turned  his  craft  to  bring  her  stern  on  to  the  landing- 
place. 

"  Lower  a  basket ! "  he  cried  to  Jones,  and,  whilst  the 
others  wondered  what  the  urgency  in  his  voice  be- 
tokened, there  reached  them  the  deep  strong  blast  of  a 
steam-whistle,  blown  four  times  in  quick  succession. 

Each  and  all,  they  had  forgotten  the  Princess  Royal. 
She  was  close  in,  much  nearer  than  mail  steamers 
usually  ventured. 

At  first  they  gazed  at  her  with  surprise,  Brand  even 
suspending  his  maneuvers  for  a  moment.  Then  Jim, 
knowing  that  a  steamship  trumpets  the  same  note  to 
express  all  sorts  of  emotion,  understood  that  the  officers 
had  witnessed  a  good  deal,  if  not  all,  that  had  taken 
place,  and  were  offering  their  congratulations. 

"Blow  away,  my  hearties!"  crowed  Jim,  vainly 
apostrophizing  the  vessel.  "You'll  have  somethin'  to 
crack  about  when  you  go  ashore  tonight  or  I'm  very 
much  mistaken.  Now,  cap'n,"  he  went  on,  "take  the 
cover  off.  It's  alive,  I  suppose.  Is  it  a  man,  or  a 
woman  ?  " 


[18] 


BRAND  was  slow  to  answer.  For  one  thing,  he  was 
exhausted.  Refreshing  as  the  long  swim  was  after  a 
night  of  lonely  vigil,  itself  the  culmination  of  two  days 
of  hard  work,  the  fierce  battle  with  the  shark  had 
shocked  into  active  existence  the  reserve  of  latent 
energy  which  every  healthy  animal  unconsciously 
hoards  for  life-and-death  emergencies. 

But  there  was  another  reason.  He  had  scarce  gained 
the  comparative  safety  of  the  boat  before  he  was,  in 
the  same  instant,  horrified  and  astounded  to  a  degree 
hitherto  beyond  his  experience.  Not  even  the  stiff  pull 
of  two  hundred  yards  sufficed  to  restore  his  senses. 
So  Jim's  question  fell  on  his  ears  with  the  meaningless 
sound  of  the  steamer's  siren. 

"What  is  it,  mate?"  repeated  his  fellow-keeper, 
more  insistently.  "  You  ain't  hurt  anyways,  are  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  baby,"  said  Brand,  in  a  curiously  vacant  way. 

"A  baby!"  shrieked  Jones,  stretched  out  over  the 
crane  above  their  heads. 

"A  what-a?"  roared  the  sailor,  whose  crudely  de- 
veloped nervous  system  was  not  proof  against  the  jar 

[19] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

of  incredulity  induced  by  this  statement.  Had  Brand 
said  "a  tiger,"  he  could  not  have  exhibited  greater 
concern. 

"  Yes,  a  baby  —  and  it  is  living.  I  heard  it  cry," 
murmured  the  other,  sitting  down  rather  suddenly. 

Indeed,  a  faint  wail,  suggestive  of  a  kitten,  now  came 
from  beneath  the  tumbled  canvas  quite  near  to  Jim. 
But  the  Royal  Navy  does  not  encourage  neurosis.  The 
lighthouse-keeper  felt  that  a  minor  crisis  had  arrived. 
It  must  be  dealt  with  promptly. 

The  evil  odor  which  still  adhered  to  the  boat  told 
him  that  Brand  had  exchanged  one  Inferno  for  another, 
when  he  clambered  out  of  the  reach  of  the  blindly 
vengeful  shark. 

He  looked  up  to  Jones. 

"  Lower  away,"  he  said,  promptly .  "  Swing  the  derrick 
until  I  grab  the  tackle,  and  then  hoist  me  aboard." 

This  was  done.  Ungainly  in  his  walk,  owing  to  his 
wounded  limb,  Jim,  clinging  to  a  rope,  had  the  easy 
activity  of  a  squirrel. 

"Now,  lower  a  jug  with  some  brandy.  He's  dead 
beat,"  he  added. 

Whilst  Jones  hastened  for  the  spirit,  the  sailor 
stooped  and  threw  back  the  sail. 

Lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  wrapped  in  a  blan- 
ket which  unavailing  struggles  had  rumpled  into  a  roll 
beneath  the  arms,  was  an  infant  whose  precise  age  it 
was  impossible  to  estimate  forthwith  owing  to  the 
emaciated  condition  of  its  body. 

With  the  rocking  of  the  boat,  the  foul  bilge-water 
[20] 


A  Christening 

washed  around  the  child's  limbs  and  back.  Instinct 
alone  had  saved  it  from  drowning.  Perhaps,  during 
the  first  hours  of  vigor  after  abandonment,  the  little 
one  might  have  rolled  over  in  infantile  search  for  food 
and  human  tendance,  but  the  rush  of  salt  water  into 
eyes  and  mouth  must  have  driven  the  tiny  sufferer  to 
seek  instantly  the  only  position  in  which  life  was  pos- 
sible. 

So  far  as  the  man  could  judge  in  a  first  hasty  glance, 
the  child's  clothing  was  of  excellent  quality.  Yet  he 
gave  slight  heed  to  such  considerations.  Jim  was  the 
father  of  three  lusty  youngsters  who  were  snugly  in 
bed  in  Penzance,  and  the  sight  of  this  forlorn  sea-waif 
made  his  eyes  misty. 

He  reached  down,  unpinned  the  blanket,  which  was 
secured  with  a  brooch,  and  lifted  the  infant  out  of  its 
unpleasing  environment.  It  was  piteous  to  see  the 
way  in  which  the  shrunken  hands  at  once  strove  to 
clasp  his  wrists,  though  they  were  all  too  feeble  to 
achieve  more  than  a  gentle  clutch  which  relaxed  almost 
as  soon  as  the  effort  was  made. 

Jones,  also  a  husband  and  father,  bethought  him 
when  he  reached  the  store-room.  Hence,  when  the 
windlass  lowered  a  basket,  there  was  not  only  a  supply 
of  brandy  within  but  also  a  bottle  of  fresh  milk,  which 
reached  the  Gulf  Rock,  by  arrangement  with  a  fisher- 
man, whenever  weather  permitted. 

Jim  handed  the  jug  to  his  exhausted  companion. 

"  Here,  cap'n,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  Take  a  couple 
of  mouthfuls  of  this.  It'll  warm  the  cockles  of  your 

[21] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

heart.  An'  the  sooner  you  shin  up  the  ladder  and  get 
them  soaked  rags  off  you  the  better.  Can  you  man- 
age ?  It's  a  near  thing  for  the  kid,  if  not  too  late  now." 

Brand  needed  no  second  bidding.  He  did  not  wish 
to  collapse  utterly,  and  the  soft  breeze,  rendered  chilly 
by  his  wet  garments,  had  revived  him  somewhat. 

The  resourceful  sailor  did  not  attempt  the  foolish 
process  of  pouring  even  the  smallest  quantity  of  milk 
into  the  baby's  mouth.  He  produced  a  handkerchief, 
steeped  a  twisted  corner  in  the  milk,  and  placed  it  be- 
tween the  parched,  salt-blackened  lips. 

This  rough  expedient  for  a  feeding-bottle  served  ad- 
mirably. The  child's  eagerness  to  gulp  in  the  life- 
giving  fluid  was  only  matched  by  the  tender  care  of  the 
sailor  in  his  efforts  to  appease  its  ravenous  hunger. 

He  was  so  intent  on  this  urgent  task  that  for  a  little 
while  he  paid  no  heed  to  Brand.  Jones,  forty  feet 
overhead,  took  the  keenest  interest  in  the  baby's  nur- 
ture. 

"Mind  you  don't  let  it  suck  the  handkerchief  into 
its  little  throat,"  he  cried.  "  Not  too  much,  Jim.  It's 
on'y  a  young  'un.  '  Half  milk,  half  water,  an'  a  lump 
of  sugar,'  my  missus  says.  Pore  little  dear!  However 
did  it  come  to  live,  when  that  man  must  ha'  bin  dead 
for  days  ?  Now,  Jim,  slow  an'  sure  is  the  motter. 
S'pose  you  shove  it  into  the  basket  an'  let  me  hoist  it 
up  here  ?  A  warm  bath  an'  a  blanket  is  the  next  best 
thing  to  milk  an'  water." 

"All  right,  skipper.  Just  hold  on  a  bit.  She's 
doin'  fine." 

[22] 


A  Christening 

"  Is  it  a  he  or  a  she  ?  " 

"I  dunno.     But  I  guess  it's  a  gal  by  the  duds." 

The  baby,  in  the  sheer  joy  of  living  again,  uttered  a 
gurgling  cry,  a  compound  of  milk,  happiness  and  pain. 

"There!  I  told  you!"  shouted  Jones,  angrily. 
"  You  think  every  kid  is  a  hardy  young  savage  like  your 
own.  You're  overdoin'  it,  I  say." 

"  Overdoin'  wot  ? "  demanded  the  sailor.  "  You 
don't  know  who  you're  talkin'  to.  Why,  when  I  was 
on  the  West  Coast,  I  reared  two  week-old  monkeys 
this  way." 

Soon  these  firm  friends  would  have  quarreled  —  so 
unbounded  was  their  anxiety  to  rescue  the  fluttering 
existence  of  the  tiny  atom  of  humanity  so  miraculously 
snatched  from  the  perils  of  the  sea. 

But  Stephen  Brand's  dominant  personality  was 
rapidly  recovering  its  normal  state. 

"Jim,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Jones  is  right.  The  child 
must  be  made  comfortable.  Her  skin  is  raw  and  her 
eyes  sore  with  inflammation.  The  little  food  she  has 
already  obtained  will  suffice  for  a  few  minutes.  Send 
her  up." 

The  "  Mr.  Jones  "  was  a  gentle  reminder  of  authority. 
No  further  protest  was  raised,  save  by  the  infant  when 
supplies  were  temporarily  withheld,  and  Jones  was  too 
pleased  that  his  opinion  should  be  supported  by  Brand 
to  give  another  thought  to  his  subordinate's  outburst. 

"Now,  back  up  to  the  rock,"  said  Brand.  "I  will 
dress  and  rejoin  you  quickly.  The  boat  must  be  thor- 
oughly examined  and  swabbed  out:  Jones  will  signal 
^ 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

for  help.  Meanwhile,  you  might  moor  her  tightly. 
When  the  tide  falls  she  will  be  left  high  and  dry." 

The  sailor's  momentary  annoyance  fled.  There 
was  much  to  be  done,  and  no  time  should  be  wasted  in 
disputes  concerning  baby  culture. 

"  Sure  you  won't  slip  ?  "  he  asked,  as  Stephen  caught 
hold  of  the  ladder. 

"No,  no.  It  was  not  fatigue  but  sickness  which 
overcame  me.  The  brandy  has  settled  that." 

Up  he  went,  as  though  returning  from  his  customary 
morning  dip. 

"  By  jingo,  he's  a  plucked  'un,"  murmured  Jim,  ad- 
miringly. "He  ought  to  be  skipper  of  a  battleship, 
instead  of  housemaid  of  a  rock-light.  Dash  them  sea- 
crows!  I  do  hate  'em." 

He  seized  an  oar  and  lunged  so  hard  and  true  at  a 
cormorant  which  was  investigating  the  shark's  liver, 
that  he  knocked  the  bird  a  yard  through  the  air.  Dis- 
comfited, it  retired,  with  a  scream.  Its  companion 
darted  to  the  vacant  site  and  pecked  industriously. 
The  neighborhood  of  the  rock  was  now  alive  with  sea- 
gulls. In  the  water  many  varieties  of  finny  shapes  were 
darting  to  and  fro  in  great  excitement.  Jim  laughed. 

"They'd  keep  me  busy,"  he  growled.  "When  all's 
said  an*  done,  it's  their  nater,  an'  they  can't  help  it." 

Unconscious  that  he  had  stated  the  primordial  thesis } 
he  left  the  foragers  alone.  Hauling  the  sail  out  of  the 
water,  he  discovered  that  the  stern-board  was  missing, 
broken  off  probably  when  the  mast  fell.  His  trained 
scrutiny  soon  solved  a  puzzle  suggested  by  the  state  of 

[24] 


A  Christening 

the  cordage.  Under  ordinary  conditions,  the  upper 
part  of  the  mast  would  either  have  carried  the  sail  clean 
away  with  it  or  be  found  acting  as  a  sort  of  sea-anchor 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  boat. 

But  it  had  gone  altogether,  and  the  strands  of  the 
sail-rope  were  bitten,  not  torn,  asunder.  The  shark 
had  striven  to  pull  the  boat  under  by  tugging  at  the 
wreckage. 

Having  made  the  canvas  ship-shape,  Jim  settled  the 
next  pressing  question  by  seizing  an  empty  tin  and 
sluicing  the  fore  part.  Then  he  passed  a  rope  under 
the  after  thwart  and  reeved  it  through  a  ring-bolt  in  a 
rock  placed  there  for  mooring  purposes  in  very  calm 
weather  like  the  present. 

When  the  Trinity  tender  paid  her  monthly  visit  to 
the  lighthouse  she  was  moored  to  a  buoy  three  cables' 
lengths  away  to  the  northwest.  If  there  was  the  least 
suspicion  of  a  sea  over  the  reef  it  was  indeed  a  ticklish 
task  landing  or  embarking  stores  and  men. 

Close-hauled,  the  boat  would  fill  forward  as  the  tide 
dropped.     This  was  matterless.     By  that  time  all  her 
movable  contents  —  she  appeared  to  have  plenty  of 
tinned  meat    and    biscuits    aboard    but  no  water  — 
would  be  removed  to  the  store-room. 

The  sailor  was  sorting  the  packages  —  wondering 
what  queer  story  of  the  deep  would  be  forthcoming 
when  the  recent  history  of  the  rescued  child  was  ascer- 
tained —  when  Brand  hailed  him. 

"  Look  out  there,  Jim.     I  am  lowering  an  ax." 

The  weapon  was  duly  delivered. 
[25] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"What's  the  ax  for,  cap'n  ?  "  was  the  natural  query. 

"I  want  to  chop  out  that  shark's  teeth.  They  will 
serve  as  mementoes  for  the  girl  if  she  grows  up,  which 
is  likely,  judging  by  the  way  she  is  yelling  at  Jones." 

"  Wot's  he  a-doin'  of  ?  "  came  the  sharp  demand. 

"Giving  her  a  bath,  and  excellently  well,  too.  He 
is  evidently  quite  domesticated." 

"If  that  means  'under  Mrs.  J.'s  thumb,'  you're 
right,  cap'n.  They  tell  me  that  when  he's  ashore  — 

"  Jim,  the  first  time  I  met  you  you  were  wheeling  a 
perambulator.  Now,  load  the  skip  and  I  will  haul  in." 

They  worked  in  silence  a  few  minutes.  Brand  de- 
scended, and  a  few  well-placed  cuts  relieved  the  man- 
eater  of  the  serrated  rows  used  to  such  serious  purpose 
in  life  that  he  had  attained  a  length  of  nearly  twelve  feet. 
Set  double  in  the  lower  jaw  and  single  in  the  upper, 
they  were  of  a  size  and  shape  ominously  suggestive  of 
the  creature's  voracity. 

"It  is  a  good  thing,"  said  Brand,  calmly  hewing  at 
the  huge  jaws,  "that  nature  did  not  build  the  Car- 
charodon  galeidas  on  the  same  lines  as  an  alligator. 
If  this  big  fellow's  sharp  embroidery  were  not  situated 
so  close  to  his  stomach  he  would  have  made  a  meal  of 
me,  Jim,  unless  I  carried  a  torpedo." 

"  He's  a  blue  shark,"  commented  the  other,  ignoring 
for  the  nonce  what  he  termed  "  some  of  the  cap'n's  jaw- 
breakers." 

"  Yes.  It  is  the  only  dangerous  species  found  so  far 
north." 

"His  teeth  are  like  so  many  fixed  bayonets.  Of 
[26] 


A  Christening 

course,  you  would  like  to  keep  'em,  but  he  would  look 
fine  in  the  museum.  Plenty  of  folk  in  Penzance,  es- 
pecially visitors,  would  pay  a  bob  a  head  to  see  him." 

Brand  paused  in  his  labor. 

"Listen,  Jim,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "I  want  both 
you  and  Jones  to  oblige  me  by  saying  nothing  about 
the  shark.  Please  do  not  mention  my  connection  with 
the  affair  in  any  way.  The  story  will  get  into  the  news- 
papers as  it  is.  The  additional  sensation  of  the  fight 
would  send  reporters  here  by  the  score.  I  don't  wish 
that  to  occur." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  — 

"Mr.  Jones  will  report  the  picking  up  of  the  boat, 
and  the  finding  of  the  baby,  together  with  the  neces 
sary  burial  of  a  man  unknown  — 

"  What  sort  of  a  chap  was  he  ?  "  interrupted  Jim. 

"I  —  I  don't  know  —  a  sailor  —  that  is  all  I  can  tell 
ou.     He  must  have  been  dead  several  days." 

"  Then  how  in  the  world  did  that  baby  keep  alive  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking  over  that  problem.  I  imagine 
that,  in  the  first  place,  there  was  a  survivor,  who  dis- 
appeared since  the  death  of  the  poor  devil  out  there  — 
he  pointed  to  the  sea.  "This  person,  whether  man  or 
woman,  looked  after  the  child  until  madness  came, 
caused  by  drinking  salt  water.  The  next  step  is  suicide. 
The  little  one,  left  living,  fell  into  the  bilge  created  by 
the  shipping  of  a  sea,  and  adopted,  by  the  mercy  of 
Providence,  a  method  of  avoiding  death  from  thirst 
which  ought  to  be  more  widely  appreciated  than  it  is. 
She  absorbed  water  through  the  pores  of  the  skin, 

[27] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

which  rejected  the  salty  elements  and  took  in  only  those 
parts  of  the  compound  needed  by  the  blood.  You 
follow  me  ?  " 

"  Quite.     It's  a  slap-up  idea." 

"  It  is  not  new.  It  occurred  to  a  ship's  captain  who 
was  compelled  to  navigate  his  passengers  and  crew  a 
thousand  miles  in  open  boats  across  the  Indian  Ocean, 
as  the  result  of  a  fire  at  sea.  Well,  the  child  was  well 
nourished,  in  all  likelihood,  before  the  accident  hap- 
pened which  set  her  adrift  on  the  Atlantic.  She  may 
have  lost  twenty  or  thirty  pounds  in  weight,  but  starva- 
tion is  a  slow  affair,  and  her  plumpness  saved  her  life 
in  that  respect.  Most  certainly  she  would  have  died 
today,  and  even  yet  she  is  in  great  danger.  Her  pulse 
is  very  weak,  and  care  must  be  taken  not  to  stimulate 
the  action  of  the  heart  too  rapidly." 

When  Brand  spoke  in  this  way,  Jim  Spence  was  far 
too  wary  to  ask  personal  questions.  Sometimes,  in 
the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance,  he  had  sought  to 
pin  his  friend  with  clumsy  logic  to  some  admission  as 
to  his  past  life.  The  only  result  he  achieved  was  to 
seal  the  other  man's  lips  for  days  so  far  as  reminis- 
cences were  concerned. 

Not  only  Jones  and  Spence,  but  Thompson,  the  third 
assistant,  who  was  taking  his  month  ashore,  together 
with  the  supernumeraries  who  helped  to  preserve  the 
rotation  of  two  months  rock  duty  and  one  ashore,  soon 
realized  that  Brand  —  whom  they  liked  and  looked  up 
to  —  had  locked  the  record  of  his  earlier  years  and  re- 
fused to  open  the  diary  for  anyone. 
[28] 


A  Christening 

Yet  so  helpful  was  he  —  so  entertaining  with  his 
scraps  of  scientific  knowledge  and  more  ample  general 
reading  —  that  those  whose  turn  on  the  rock  was  co- 
incident with  his  relief  hailed  his  reappearance  with  joy. 
During  the  preceding  winter  he  actually  entertained 
them  with  a  free  translation  of  the  twenty-four  books 
of  the  "Ilaid,"  and  great  was  the  delight  of  Jim  Spence 
when  he  was  able  to  connect  the  exploits  of  some  Greek 
or  Trojan  hero  with  the  identity  of  one  of  her  Majesty's 
ships. 

In  private,  they  discussed  him  often,  and  a  common 
agreement  was  made  that  his  wish  to  remain  incognito 
should  be  respected.  Their  nickname,  "the  cap'n," 
was  a  tacit  admission  of  his  higher  social  rank.  They 
feared  lest  inquisitiveness  should  drive  him  from  their 
midst,  and  one  supernumerary,  who  heard  from  the 
cook  of  the  Trinity  tender  that  Brand  was  the  nephew 
of  a  baronet,  was  roughly  bidden  to  "  close  his  rat-trap, 
or  he  might  catch  something  he  couldn't  eat." 

So  Jim  now  contented  himself  by  remarking  dole- 
fully that  had  his  advice  been  taken  "  the  bloomin'  kid 
would  be  well  on  her  way  back  to  the  Scilly  Isles." 

"You  must  not  say  that,"  was  the  grave  response. 
"  These  things  are  determined  by  a  higher  power  than 
man's  intelligence.  Think  how  the  seeming  accident 
of  a  fallen  sail  saved  the  child  from  the  cormorants  and 
other  birds  —  how  a  chance  sea  fell  into  the  boat  and 
kept  her  alive  —  how  mere  idle  curiosity  on  my  part 
impelled  me  to  swim  out  and  investigate  matters." 

"That's  your  way  of  puttin'  it,"  Jim  was  forced  to 
[29] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

say.  "You  knew  quite  well  that  there  might  be  a 
shark  in  her  wake,  or  you  wouldn't  have  taken  the  knife. 
An'  now  you  won't  have  a  word  said  about  it.  At  the 
bombardment  of  Alexandria,  a  messmate  of  mine  got 
the  V.  C.  for  less." 

"The  real  point  is,  Jim,  that  we  have  not  yet  dis- 
covered what  ship  this  boat  belongs  to." 

"  No,  an'  what's  more,  we  won't  find  out  in  a  hurry. 
Her  name's  gone,  fore  and  aft." 

"  Is  there  nothing  left  to  help  us  ?  " 

"  Only  this." 

The  sailor  produced  the  brooch  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  It  was  of  the  safety-pin  order,  but  made  of 
gold  and  ornamented  with  small  emeralds  set  as  a  four- 
leafed  shamrock. 

"  Is  the  maker's  name  on  the  sail  ?  " 

"No.  I  fancy  that  this  craft  was  rigged  on  board 
ship  for  harbor  cruisin'." 

Brand  passed  a  hand  wearily  across  his  forehead. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  been  so  precipitate,"  he  murmured. 
"That  man  had  papers  on  him,  in  all  likelihood." 

"You  couldn't  have  stood  it,  mate.  It  was  bad 
enough  for  me.  It  must  ha'  bin  hell  for  you." 

"  Perhaps  the  baby's  clothes  are  marked." 

"That's  a  chance.     She  was  well  rigged  out." 

Brand  cast  the  shark  loose.  The  monster  slid  off 
into  the  green  depths.  A  noiseless  procession  of  dim 
forms  rushed  after  the  carcass.  The  birds,  shrill  with 
disappointment,  darted  off  to  scour  the  neighboring 
sea. 

[30] 


A  Christening 

Beyond  the  damaged  boat,  bumping  against  the 
rock,  and  the  huge  jaws  with  their  rows  of  wedge- 
shaped  teeth,  naught  remained  to  testify  to  the  drama 
of  the  hour  save  the  helpless  baby  on  which  the  head- 
keeper  was  waiting  so  sedulously. 

Already  the  signal  "Doctor  wanted"  was  fluttering 
from  the  lighthouse  flagstaff.  It  would  be  noted  at  the 
Land's  End  and  telegraphed  to  Penzance.  The  morn- 
ing would  be  well  advanced  before  help  could  reach  the 
Gulf  Rock  from  ashore. 

When  Brand  and  Spence  entered  Jones's  bedroom 
they  found  him  hard  at  work  washing  the  child's  cloth- 
ing. 

"She's  asleep,"  he  said,  jerking  his  head  towards  a 
bunk.  "  I  gev'  her  a  pint  of  mixture.  She  cried  a  bit 
when  there  was  no  more  to  be  had,  but  a  warm  bath 
with  some  boric  acid  in  it  made  her  sleepy.  An'  there 
she  is,  snug  as  a  cat." 

The  domesticated  Jones  was  up  to  his  elbows  in  a 
lather  of  soap. 

"  Have  you  noticed  any  laundry  marks  or  initials  on 
her  clothing  ?  "  asked  Brand. 

"  Yes.     Here  you  are." 

He  fished  out  of  the  bubbles  a  little  vest,  on  which 
were  worked  the  letters  E.  T.  in  white  silk. 

"Ah!  That  is  very  important.  We  can  establish 
her  identity,  especially  if  the  laundry  mark  is  there 
also." 

"  I'm  feared  there's  nothing  else,"  said  Jones.  "  I've 
not  looked  very  carefully,  as  it'll  take  me  all  my  time 

[31] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

to  get  everything  dry  afore  the  tug  comes.  As  for 
ironin',  it  can't  be  done.  But  my  missus  '11  see  after 
her  until  somebody  turns  up  to  claim  her." 

"That  may  be  never." 

"  Surely  we  will  get  some  news  of  the  ship  which  was 
lost!" 

"  Yes,  that  is  little  enough  to  expect.  Yet  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  her  parents  are  dead.  A  baby 
would  be  separated  from  her  mother  only  by  the  moth- 
er's death.  There  is  a  very  real  chance  that  poor 
*E.  T.'  will  be  left  for  years  on  the  hands  of  those  who 
take  charge  of  her  now.  The  only  alternative  is  the 
workhouse." 

"That's  so,  cap'n,"  put  in  Jim.  "You  always  dig 
to  the  heart  of  a  subjec',  even  if  it's  a  shark." 

"  In  a  word,  Jones,  you  can  hardly  be  asked  to  assume 
such  a  responsibility.  Now  it  happens  that  I  can 
afford  to  adopt  the  child,  if  she  lives,  and  is  not  claimed 
by  relatives.  It  is  almost  a  duty  imposed  on  me  by 
events.  When  the  doctor  comes,  therefore,  I  purpose 
asking  him  to  see  that  she  is  handed  over  to  Mrs.  Shep- 
pard,  the  nurse  who  looks  after  my  own  little  girl.  I 
will  write  to  her.  My  turn  ashore  comes  next  week. 
Then  I  can  devote  some  time  to  the  necessary  inquiries." 

Jones  made  no  protest.  He  knew  that  Brand's  sug- 
gestion was  a  good  one.  And  he  promised  silence  with 
regard  to  the  fight  with  the  shark.  Men  in  the  light- 
house service  are  quick  to  grasp  the  motives  which 
cause  others  to  avoid  publicity.  They  live  sedate, 
lonely  lives.  The  noise,  the  rush,  the  purposeless 

[32] 


A  Christening 

activities  of  existence  ashore  weary  them.  They  have 
been  known  to  petition  the  Trinity  Brethren  to  send 
them  back  to  isolated  stations  when  promoted  to  local- 
ities where  the  pleasures  and  excitements  of  a  town 
were  available. 

Having  determined  the  immediate  future  of  little 
"E.  T.,"  whose  shrunken  features  were  now  placid  in 
sleep,  they  quietly  separated.  Brand  flung  himself 
wearily  into  a  bunk  to  obtain  a  much-needed  rest,  and 
the  others  hurried  to  overtake  the  many  duties  awaiting 
them. 

Weather  reports  and  daily  journals  demanded  in- 
stant attention.  The  oil  expenditure,  the  breakage 
of  glass  chimneys,  the  consumption  of  stores,  the  me- 
teorological records  —  all  must  be  noted.  An  efficient 
lookout  must  be  maintained,  signals  answered  or  hoisted, 
everything  kept  spotlessly  clean,  and  meals  cooked. 
Until  noon  each  day  a  rock  lighthouse  is  the  scene  of 
unremitting  diligence,  and  the  loss  of  nearly  an  hour 
and  a  half  of  Spence's  watch,  added  to  the  presence  of 
the  baby  and  the  constant  care  which  one  or  other  of 
the  two  men  bestowed  on  her,  made  the  remaining  time 
doubly  precious. 

About  nine  o'clock,  Brand  was  awakened  from  a 
heavy  slumber  by  Jim's  hearty  voice: 

"Breakfast  ready,  cap'n.  Corfee,  eggs  an'  haddick 
—  fit  for  the  Queen,  God  bless  her!  An'  baby's  had 
another  pint  of  Jones's  brew  —  Lord  love  her  little 
eyes,  though  I  haven't  seen  'em  yet.  A  rainnit  ago 

[33] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Jones  sung  down  to  me  that  the  Lancelot  has  just 
cleared  Cam  du." 

The  concluding  statement  brought  Brand  to  his  feet. 
The  doctor  would  be  on  the  rock  by  the  time  breakfast 
was  ended  and  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Sheppard  written. 

When  the  doctor  did  arrive  he  shook  his  head  du- 
biously at  first  sight  of  the  child. 

"I  don't  know  how  she  lived.  She  is  a  mere  skele- 
ton," he  said. 

Brand  explained  matters,  and  hinted  at  his  theory. 

"Oh,  the  ways  of  nature  are  wonderful,"  admitted 
the  doctor.  "Sometimes  a  man  will  die  from  an  ab- 
surdly trivial  thing,  like  the  sting  of  a  wasp  or  the  cut- 
ting of  a  finger.  At  others,  you  can  fling  him  headlong 
from  the  Alps  and  he  will  merely  suffer  a  bruise  or  two. 
Of  course,  this  infant  has  an  exceptionally  strong  con- 
stitution or  she  would  have  died  days  ago.  However, 
you  have  done  right  so  far.  I  will  see  to  her  proper 
nourishment  during  the  next  few  days.  It  is  a  most 
extraordinary  case." 

Jones  had  managed  so  well  that  the  child's  garments 
were  dry  and  well  aired.  Wrapped  in  a  clean  blanket, 
she  was  lowered  into  the  steamer's  boat,  but  the  doctor, 
preferring  to  jump,  was  soaked  to  the  waist  owing  to  a 
slip  on  the  weed-covered  rock. 

The  crew  of  the  tugboat  bailed  out  the  derelict  and 
towed  her  to  Penzance. 

That  evening  a  fisherman  brought  a  note  from  Mrs. 
Sheppard.  Among  other  things,  she  wrote  that  the 
baby's  clothes  were  beautifully  made  and  of  a  very  ex- 

[34] 


A  Christening 

pensive  type.  She  was  feverish,  the  doctor  said, 
but  the  condition  of  her  eyes  and  lips  would  ac- 
count for  this,  apart  from  the  effects  of  prolonged 
exposure. 

Brand  read  the  letter  to  his  mates  when  the  trio  were 
enjoying  an  evening  pipe  on  the  "promenade,"  the 
outer  balcony  under  the  lantern. 

"S'pose  her  people  don't  show  up,"  observed  Jim, 
"  what  are  you  goin'  to  call  her  ?  " 

"  Trevillion,"  said  Brand. 

The  others  gazed  at  him  with  surprise.  The  prompt 
announcement  was  unexpected. 

"  I  have  told  you  about  the  fabled  land  of  Lyonnesse 
lying  there  beneath  the  sea,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to 
the  dark  blue  expanse  on  whose  distant  confines  the 
Scilly  Isles  were  silhouetted  by  the  last  glow  of  the 
vanished  sun.  "Well,  the  name  of  the  only  person 
who  escaped  from  that  minor  deluge  was  Trevillion. 
It  is  suitable,  and  it  accords  with  the  initial  of  her  prob- 
able surname." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  piped  Jones.  His  voice,  always  high- 
pitched,  became  squeaky  when  his  brain  was  stirred. 

"That's  O.K.  for  the  'T,'"  remarked  Jim,  "but 
what  about  the  '  E '  ?  "  Elizabeth  is  a  nice  name  when 
you  make  it  into  Bessie." 

"  I  think  we  should  keep  up  the  idea  of  the  Arthurian 
legend.  There  are  two  that  come  to  my  mind,  Elaine 
and  Enid.  Elaine  died  young,  the  victim  of  an  un- 
happy love.  Enid  became  the  wife  of  a  gallant  knight, 
Gawain,  who  was 

[35] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

" ever  foremost  in  the  chase, 

And  victor  at  the  tilt  and  tournament, 

They  called  him  the  great  Prince  and  man  of  men. 

But  Enid,  whom  her  ladies  loved  to  call 

Enid  the  Fair,  a  grateful  people  named 

Enid  the  Good." 

"That  settles  it,"  cried  Jim,  brandishing  his  pipe 
towards  Penzance.  "  I  hope  as  how  Miss  Enid  Trevil- 
lion  is  asleep  an'  doin'  well,  an'  that  she'll  grow  up  to 
be  both  fair  an'  good.  If  she  does,  she'll  be  better'n 
most  women." 

Brand  made  no  reply.  He  went  within  to  attend  to 
the  lantern.  In  five  minutes  the  great  eyes  of  the 
Lizard,  the  Longships  and  the  Seven  Stones  Lightship 
were  solemnly  staring  at  their  fellow-warden  of  the 
Gulf  Rock,  whilst,  in  the  far  west,  so  clear  was  the 
night,  the  single  flash  of  St.  Agnes  and  the  double  flash 
of  the  Bishop  illumined  the  sky. 


[36] 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  SIGNAL 

AT  the  foot  of  a  long  flight  of  steps  leading  from  the 
boat  quay  to  the  placid  waters  of  Penzance  harbor  a 
stoutly  built  craft  was  moored.  It  had  two  occupants 
this  bright  January  morning,  and  they  were  sufficiently 
diverse  in  appearance  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
local  squad  of  that  great  army  of  loungers  which  seems 
to  thrive  in  tobacco-blessed  content  at  all  places  where 
men  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

The  pair  consisted  of  a  weather-beaten  fisherman 
and  a  girl. 

The  man  was  scarred  and  blistered  by  wind  and 
wave  until  he  had  attained  much  outward  semblance 
to  his  craft.  Nevertheless,  man  and  boat  looked  re- 
liable. They  were  sturdy  and  strong;  antiquated,  per- 
haps, and  greatly  in  want  of  a  new  coat;  but  shaped  on 
lines  to  resist  the  elements  together  for  years  to  come. 
Ben  Pollard  and  his  pilchard-driver,  Daisy,  were 
Cornish  celebrities  of  note.  Not  once,  but  many  times, 
had  they  been  made  immortal  —  with  the  uncertain 
immortality  of  art  —  by  painters  of  the  Newlyn  school. 

[37] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

The  girl,  an  animated  cameo,  to  which  the  shabby 
picturesqueness  of  Old  Ben  in  his  patched  garments 
and  old  Daisy  in  her  unkempt  solidity  supplied  a 
fitting  background,  merited  the  tacit  approval  she  re- 
ceived from  the  pipe-smokers. 

Flaxen-haired,  blue-eyed,  with  a  face  of  a  delicate, 
flower-like  beauty  which  added  to  its  mobile  charm  by 
the  healthy  glow  of  a  skin  brightened  and  deepened  in 
tone  by  an  abiding  love  of  the  open  air,  she  suggested, 
by  her  attire,  an  artistic  study  of  the  color  effects  de- 
rivable from  the  daringly  trustful  little  plant  which 
gave  the  boat  its  name.  She  wore  a  coat  and  skirt  of 
green  cloth,  lightly  hemmed  and  cuffed  with  dark  red 
braid.  Her  large  white  hat  was  trimmed  with  velvet 
of  a  tone  to  match  the  braid,  and  her  neatly  fitting 
brown  boots  and  gloves  were  of  the  right  shade.  Be- 
neath her  coat  there  was  a  glimpse  of  a  knitted  jersey 
of  soft  white  wool,  this  being  a  tribute  to  the  season, 
though  a  winter  in  Lyonnesse  can  usually  shrug  its 
comfortable  shoulders  at  the  deceitful  vagaries  of  the 
Riviera. 

That  she  was  a  young  person  of  some  maritime  ex- 
perience was  visible  to  the  connoisseurs  above  at  a 
glance.  She  was  busily  engaged  in  packing  the  spa- 
cious lockers  of  the  Daisy  with  certain  stores  of 
apples,  oranges  and  vegetables  —  ranging  from  the 
lordly  new  potato  (an  aristocrat  at  that  time  of  the  year) 
to  the  plebeian  cabbage  —  and  her  lithe,  active  figure 
moved  with  an  ease  born  of  confidence  in  the  erratic 

[38] 


The  Signal 

principles  of  gravitation  as  codified  and  arranged  by  a 
rocking  boat. 

Pollard,  too,  was  overhauling  his  gear,  seeing  that 
the  mast  was  securely  stepped  and  the  tackle  ran  free. 
Whilst  they  worked  they  talked,  and,  of  course,  the 
critics  listened. 

"  Do  you  think  the  weather  will  hold,  Ben  ?  "  asked 
the  girl  over  her  shoulder,  stooping  to  arrange  some 
clusters  of  daffodils  and  narcissus  so  that  they  should 
not  suffer  by  the  lurch  of  some  heavy  package  when 
the  boat  heeled  over. 

"The  glass  be  a-fallin',  sure,  missy,"  said  the  old 
fellow  cheerily,  "  but  wi'  the  wind  backin'  round  to  the 
norrard  it  on'y  means  a  drop  o'  wet." 

"  You  think  we  will  make  the  rock  in  good  time  ?  " 

"  We'm  do  our  best,  Miss  Enid." 

She  sat  up  suddenly. 

"Don't  you  dare  tell  me,  Ben  Pollard,  that  after  all 
our  preparations  we  may  have  to  turn  back  or  run  for 
inglorious  shelter  into  Lamorna." 

Her  mock  indignation  induced  a  massive  grin.  "A 
mahogany  table  breaking  into  mirth,"  was  Enid's  pri- 
vate description  of  Ben's  face  when  he  smiled. 

'  'Ee  knaw  the  coast  as  well  as  most,"  he  said.  "  Fur- 
ther go,  stronger  blow,  'ee  knaw." 

"And  not  so  slow,  eh,  Ben?  Really,  you  and  the 
Daisy  look  more  tubby  every  time  I  see  you." 

Thus  disparaged,  Pollard  defended  himself  and  his 
craft. 

"  Me  an'  Daisy  '11  sail  to  Gulf  Light  quicker'n  any 
[39] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

other  two  tubs  in  Penzance,  missy.  Her  be  a  long  run 
at  this  time  o'  year,  but  you'm  get  there  all  right,  I 
'xpect.  Wi'  a  norrard  breeze  we'm  be  safe  enough. 
If  the  wind  makes  'ee  c'n  zee  et  comin',  'ee  knaw." 

She  laughed  quietly.  Any  reflection  on  the  spanking 
powers  of  his  pilchard-driver  would  rouse  Ben  instantly. 

"As  if  I  didn't  know  all  you  could  teach  me,"  she 
cried,  "and  as  if  anyone  in  all  Cornwall  could  teach 
me  better." 

The  old  fisherman  was  mollified.  He  looked  along 
the  quay. 

"Time  we'm  cast  off,"  he  said.  "Miss  Constance 
be  a  plaguey  long  time  fetchin'  them  wraps." 

"Oh,  Ben,  how  can  you  say  that?  She  had  to  go 
all  the  way  to  the  Cottage.  Why,  if  she  ran  — 

"  Here  she  be,"  he  broke  in,  "  an'  she  b'ain't  runnin' 
neither.  Her's  got  a  young  man  in  tow." 

What  announcement  would  straighten  the  back  of 
any  girl  of  nineteen  like  unto  that  ?  Enid  Trevillion 
turned  and  stood  upright. 

"  Why,  it's  Jack ! "  she  cried,  waving  a  delighted  hand. 

"  So  it  be,"  admitted  Pollard,  after  a  surprised  stare. 
"When  I  look  landward  my  eyes  b'ain't  so  good  as 
they  was." 

He  stated  this  fact  regretfully.  No  elderly  sea-dog 
will  ever  acknowledge  to  failing  vision  when  he  gazes 
at  the  level  horizon  he  knows  so  well.  This  is  no  pre- 
tence of  unwilling  age:  it  is  wholly  true.  The  settled 
chaos  of  the  shore  bewilders  him.  The  changeful  sea 
cannot. 

[40] 


The  Signal 

Meanwhile,  the  dawdlers  lining  the  wharf,  following 
Enid's  signals  with  their  eyes,  devoted  themselves  to  a 
covert  staring  at  the  young  people  hurrying  along  the 
quay. 

Constance  Brand,  being  a  young  and  pretty  woman, 
secured  their  instant  suffrages.  Indeed,  she  would 
have  won  the  favorable  verdict  of  a  more  severe  au- 
dience. Taller  than  Enid,  she  had  the  brown  hair  and 
hazel  eyes  of  her  father.  To  him,  too,  she  owed  the 
frank,  self-reliant  pose  of  head  and  clearly  cut,  refined 
features  which  conveyed  to  others  that  all-important 
first  good  impression.  Blended  with  Stephen  Brand's 
firm  incisiveness,  and  softening  the  quiet  strength  of 
her  marked  resemblance  to  him,  was  an  essential  femi- 
ninity which  lifted  her  wholly  apart  from  the  ruck  of 
handsome  English  girls  who  find  delight  in  copying  the 
manners  and  even  the  dress  of  their  male  friends. 

Her  costume  was  an  exact  replica  of  that  of  Enid. 
She  walked  well  and  rapidly,  yet  her  alert  carriage  had 
a  grace,  a  subtle  elegance,  more  frequently  seen  in 
America  than  in  England.  Her  lively  face,  flushed 
with  exercise,  and,  it  may  be,  with  some  little  excite- 
ment, conveyed  the  same  Transatlantic  characteristic. 
One  said  at  seeing  her :  "  Here  is  a  girl  who  has  lived 
much  abroad."  It  came  as  a  surprise  to  learn  that  she 
had  never  crossed  the  Channel. 

The  man  with  her,  Lieutenant  John  Percival  Stan- 
hope, R.  N.,  was  too  familiar  a  figure  in  Penzance  to 
evoke  muttered  comment  from  the  gallery. 

A  masterful  young  gentleman  he  looked,  and  one 
[41] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

accustomed  to  having  his  own  way  in  the  world,  whether 
in  love  or  war.  True  type  of  the  British  sailor,  he  had 
the  physique  of  a  strong  man  and  the  adventurously 
cheerful  expression  of  a  boy. 

The  skin  of  his  face  and  hands,  olive-tinted  with  ex- 
posure, his  dark  hair  and  the  curved  eyelashes,  which 
drooped  over  his  blue  eyes,  no  less  than  the  artistic  pro- 
clivities suggested  by  his  well-chiseled  features  and 
long,  tapering  fingers,  proclaimed  that  Stanhope,  not- 
withstanding his  Saxon  surname  and  bluff  bearing, 
was  a  Celt.  His  mother,  in  fact,  was  a  Tregarthen  of 
Cornwall,  daughter  of  a  peer,  and  a  leading  figure  in 
local  society. 

One  may  ask :  "  Why  should  a  youth  of  good 
birth  and  social  position  be  on  such  terms  of  easy 
familiarity  with  two  girls,  one  of  whom  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  lighthouse-keeper,  and  the  other  her  sister  by 
adoption  ?  " 

Indeed,  a  great  many  people  did  ask  this  pertinent 
question;  among  others,  Lady  Margaret  Stanhope  put 
it  often  and  pointedly  to  her  son,  without  any  cogent 
answer  being  forthcoming. 

If  she  were  denied  enlightenment,  although  her 
maternal  anxiety  was  justifiable,  the  smokers  on  the 
pier,  as  representing  the  wider  gossip  of  the  town,  may 
also  be  left  unsatisfied. 

"This  is  a  nice  thing,"  he  cried,  when  he  came 
within  speaking  distance  of  the  girl  in  the  boat.  "I 
manage  to  bamboozle  the  admiral  out  of  three  days' 
leave  and  I  rush  to  Penzance  to  be  told  that  Constance 

[42] 


The  Signal 

and  you  are  off  to  the  Gulf  Rock  for  the  day.     It  is  too 
bad  of  you,  Enid." 

Eyebrows  were  raised  and  silent  winks  exchanged 
among  the  human  sparrows  lining  the  rails. 

"  So  Master  Jack  came  to  see  Miss  Trevillion,  eh  ? 
What  would  her  ladyship  say  if  she  heard  that  ?" 

"  Why  not  come  with  us  ?  "     The  audacity  of  her ! 

"By  Jove,"  he  agreed,  "that  would  be  jolly.  Look 
here.  Wait  two  minutes  until  I  scribble  a  line  to  the 
mater  — 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  Jack,"  interposed  the  other 
girl  quietly,  taking  from  his  arm  the  water-proof  cloaks 
he  was  carrying  for  her.  "  You  know  Lady  Margaret 
would  be  very  angry,  and  with  very  good  reason.  More- 
over, dad  would  be  annoyed,  too." 

"The  old  girl  is  going  out  this  afternoon,"  he  pro- 
tested. 

"And  she  expects  you  to  go  with  her.  Now,  Jack, 
don't  let  us  quarrel  before  we  have  met  for  five  minutes. 
We  will  see  you  tomorrow." 

He  helped  her  down  the  stone  steps. 

"  Enid,"  he  murmured,  "  Connie  and  you  must 
promise  to  drive  with  me  to  Morvah  in  the  morning. 
I  will  call  for  you  at  eleven  sharp." 

"  What  a  pity  you  can't  sail  out  to  the  rock  with  us 
today.  Tomorvah  is  so  distant." 

The  minx  lifted  her  blue  eyes  to  his  with  such  in- 
genuous regret  in  them  that  Stanhope  laughed,  and  pipes 
were  shifted  to  permit  the  listeners  above  their  heads 
to  snigger  approval  of  her  quip. 

[43] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Dad  will  wig  us  enough  as  it  is,  Enid,"  said  the 
other  girl.  "  We  are  bringing  him  a  peace-offering  of 
fruits  of  the  earth,  Jack." 

"  Will  you  be  able  to  land  ?  " 

"  One  never  can  tell.  It  all  depends  on  the  state  of 
the  sea  near  the  rock.  Anyhow,  we  can  have  a  chat, 
and  send  up  the  vegetables  by  the  derrick." 

"  We'm  never  get  there  thiccy  tide  if  we'rn  stop  here 
much  longer,"  interrupted  Ben. 

"Hello,  old  grampus!  How  are  you?  Mind  you 
keep  these  young  ladies  off  the  stones." 

"And  mind  you  keep  your  tin-pot  off  the  stones," 
growled  Pollard.  "They  was  a-sayin'  larst  night  her 
were  aground  at  Portsea." 

"They  said  right,  Father  Ben.  That  is  why  I  am 
here." 

Enid  glanced  at  him  with  ready  anxiety.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  flirt  in  her  manner  now. 

"I  hope  you  had  no  mishap,"  she  said,  and  Con- 
stance mutely  echoed  the  inquiry.  Both  girls  knew 
well  what  a  serious  thing  it  was  for  a  youngster  to  run 
his  first  boat  ashore. 

"Don't  look  so  glum,"  he  chuckled.  "I  am  all 
right.  Got  a  bit  of  kudos  out  of  it  really.  We  fouled 
the  Volcanic  and  strained  our  steering  gear.  That 
is  all." 

It  was  not  all.  He  did  not  mention  that,  during  a 
torpedo  attack  on  a  foggy  night,  he  ran  up  to  three 
battleships  undefended  by  nets  and  stenciled  his  ini- 
within  a  white  square  on  five  different  parts  of 
[44] 


The  Signal 

their  sleek  hulls,  thus  signifying  to  an  indignant  admiral 
and  three  confounded  captains  (dictionary  meaning  of 
"confounded")  that  these  leviathans ' had  been  in- 
gloriously  sunk  at  their  moorings  by  torpedoes. 

"It  sounds  unconvincing,"  said  Constance.  "You 
must  supply  details  tomorrow.  Enid,  that  horrid  pun 
of  yours  ruins  the  word." 

"Are  we  also  to  supply  luncheon?"  chimed  in 
Enid. 

"Perish  the  thought.  I  have  lived  on  sandwiches 
and  bottled  beer  for  a  week.  There!  Off  you  go." 

He  gave  the  boat  a  vigorous  push  and  stood  for  a 
little  while  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  ostensibly  to  light  a 
cigar.  He  watched  Constance  shipping  the  rudder 
whilst  Enid  hoisted  the  sail  and  old  Ben  plied  a  pair  of 
oars  to  carry  the  boat  into  the  fair  way  of  the  channel. 

They  neared  the  harbor  lighthouse.  The  brown 
sail  filled  and  the  Daisy  got  way  on  her.  Then  she 
sped  round  the  end  of  the  solid  pier  and  vanished, 
whereupon  Lieutenant  Stanhope  walked  slowly  to  the 
Promenade,  whence  he  could  see  the  diminishing  speck 
of  canvas  on  the  shining  sea  until  it  was  hidden  by 
Clement's  Island. 

At  last,  the  devotees  of  twist  and  shag,  resting  their 
tired  arms  on  the  railing,  were  able  to  exchange  com- 
ments. 

"Brace  o'  fine  gells,  them,"  observed  the  acknowl- 
edged leader,  a  broken-down  "captain"  of  a  mine 
abandoned  soon  after  his  birth. 

"Fine,"  agreed  his  nearest  henchman.  Then, 
[45] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

catching  the  gloom  of  the  captain's  gaze  after  Stan- 
hope's retreating  figure,  he  added: 

"But  what  does  that  young  spark  want,  turn- 
ing their  pretty  heads  for  them,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  " 

"They  did  n't  seem  particular  stuck  on  'im,"  ven- 
tured another. 

"The  ways  of  women  is  curious,"  pronounced  the 
oracle.  "  I  once  knew  a  gell  — 

But  his  personal  reminiscences  were  not  of  value. 
More  to  the  point  was  the  garbled,  but,  in  the  main, 
accurate  account  he  gave  of  the  rescue  of  an  unknown 
child  by  one  of  the  keepers  of  the  Gulf  Rock  lighthouse 
on  a  June  morning  eighteen  years  earlier. 

Stephen  Brand  was  the  name  of  the  man,  and  there 
was  a  bit  of  a  mystery  about  him,  too.  They  all  knew 
that  a  light-keeper  earned  a  matter  of  £70  to  .£80  a 
year  —  not  enough  to  maintain  a  daughter  and  an 
adopted  child  in  slap-up  style,  was  it  ?  A  small  villa 
they  lived  in,  and  a  governess  they  had,  and  ponies  to 
ride  when  they  were  big  enough.  The  thing  was  ridic- 
ulous, wasn't  it  ? 

Everybody  agreed  that  it  was. 

People  said  Brand  was  a  swell.  Well,  that  might 
or  might  not  be  true.  The  speaker  did  not  think  much 
of  him.  He  was  a  quiet,  unsociable  chap,  though 
Jones,  a  Trinity  pensioner,  who  kept  the  "Pilchard 
and  Seine"  now,  wouldn't  hear  a  wrong  word  about 
him,  and  always  called  him  "cap'n."  A  pretty  sort  of 
a  captain!  But  then,  they  all  knew  what  an  old  slow- 

[46] 


The  Signal 

coach  Jones  was.  They  did:  Jones's  pints  were  re- 
tailed on  the  premises  for  money  down. 

Then  there  was  Spence,  lame  Jim,  who  lived  at 
Marazion :  he  told  a  fine  tale  about  a  fight  with  a  shark 
before  Brand  reached  the  boat  in  which  was  the  blessed 
baby  —  that  very  girl,  Enid,  they  had  just  seen.  Was 
it  true?  How  could  he  say?  There  was  a  lot  about 
it  at  the  time  in  the  local  papers,  but  just  then  his  own 
mind  was  given  to  thoughts  of  enlisting,  as  a  British 
expedition  was  marching  across  the  desert  to  relieve 
Khartoum  —  and  cause  Gordon's  death. 

No:  Brand  and  the  two  girls  had  not  dwelt  all  the 
time  in  Penzance.  The  light-keepers  went  all  over 
the  kingdom,  you  know,  but  he  had  hit  upon  some  sort 
of  fog-signal  fad  —  Brand  was  always  a  man  of  fads : 
he  once  told  the  speaker  that  all  the  Polwena  Mine 
wanted  was  work  —  and  the  Gulf  Rock  was  the  best 
place  for  trying  it.  At  his  own  request  the  Trinity 
people  sent  him  back  there  two  years  ago.  Some  folk 
had  queer  tastes,  hadn't  they  ?  And  talking  so  much 
had  made  him  dry. 

Then  the  conversation  languished,  as  the  only  ob- 
vious remark  of  any  importance  was  not  forthcoming. 

Meanwhile,  the  Daisy  sped  buoyantly  towards  the 
southwest.  Although  she  was  broad  in  beam  and 
staunch  from  thwart  to  keel  it  was  no  light  undertaking 
to  run  fourteen  miles  out  and  home  in  such  a  craft. 

But  old  Ben  Pollard  knew  what  he  was  about.  Not 
until  the  granite  pillar  of  the  distant  Gulf  Rock  opened 
up  beyond  Carn  du  was  it  necessary  to  turn  the  boat's 

[47] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

head  seawards.  Even  then,  by  steering  close  to  the 
Runnelstone,  they  need  not,  during  two-thirds  of  the 
time,  be  more  than  a  mile  or  so  distant  from  one  of  the 
many  creeks  in  which  they  could  secure  shelter  in  case 
of  a  sudden  change  in  the  weather. 

Thenceforward  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  a  straight 
run  of  six  miles  to  the  rock,  behind  which  lay  the  Scilly 
Isles,  forty  miles  away,  and  well  below  the  boat's 
horizon. 

So,  when  the  moment  came  for  the  final  decision  to 
be  made,  Pollard  cast  an  anxious  eye  at  a  great  bank 
of  cloud  mounting  high  in  the  north. 

There  was  an  ominous  drop  in  the  temperature,  too. 
The  rain  he  anticipated  might  turn  to  snow,  and  snow 
is  own  brother  to  fog  at  sea,  though  both  are  generally 
absent  from  the  Cornish  littoral  in  winter. 

"Ben,"  cried  Enid,  breaking  off  a  vivid  if  merciless 
description  of  a  new  disciple  who  had  joined  the  artistic 
coterie  at  Newlyn,  "  what  are  you  looking  at  ?  " 

He  scratched  his  head  and  gazed  fixedly  at  the  white 
battalions  sweeping  in  aerial  conquest  over  the  land. 

"  She  do  look  like  snaw,"  he  admitted. 

"  Well,  what  does  that  matter  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  orders  Constance  had  eased  the 
helm  a  trifle.  The  Daisy  was  now  fairly  headed  for 
the  rock.  With  this  breeze  she  would  be  there  in  less 
than  an  hour. 

"  It  be  a  bit  risky,"  grumbled  Ben. 

"We  will  be  alongside  the  lighthouse  before  there 
can  be  any  serious  downfall,"  said  practical  Constance. 

[48] 


The  Signal 

"Surely  we  can  make  the  land  again  no  matter  how 
thick  the  weather  may  be." 

Ben  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded.  In  after  life 
he  would  never  admit  that  they  were  free  agents  at  that 
moment. 

"  It  had  to  be,"  he  would  say.  "  It  wur  in  me  mind  to 
argy  wi'  she,  but  I  just  couldn't.  An'  how  often  do  us  zee 
snaw  in  Carnwall  ?  Not  once  in  a  blue  moon."  And  who 
would  dispute  him  ?  No  West-country  man,  certainly. 

At  a  distance  of  five  miles  one  small  fishing  craft  is 
as  like  another  as  two  Liliputians  to  the  eye  of  Gulliver. 
In  a  word,  it  needs  acquaintance  and  nearness  to  dis- 
tinguish them. 

As  it  happened,  Stephen  Brand  did  happen  to  note 
the  Daisy  and  the  course  she  was  shaping.  But,  dur- 
ing the  short  interval  when  his  telescope  might  have 
revealed  to  him  the  identity  of  her  occupants,  he  was 
suddenly  called  by  telephone  from  the  oil-room  to  the 
kitchen.  When  next  he  ran  aloft  in  a  wild  hurry  to 
signal  for  assistance,  he  found,  to  his  despair,  that  the 
Land's  End  was  already  blotted  out  in  a  swirling  snow- 
storm, and  the  great  plain  of  blue  sea  had  shrunk  to  a 
leaden  patch  whose  visible  limits  made  the  reef  look 
large  by  comparison. 

With  the  mechanical  precision  of  habit  he  set  the 
big  bell  in  motion.  Its  heavy  boom  came  fitfully 
through  the  pelting  snow-flakes  to  the  ears  of  the  two 
girls  and  old  Ben.  The  latter,  master  of  the  situation 
now,  announced  his  intention  to  'bout  ship  and  make 
for  Mount's  Bay. 

[49] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  'Ee  doan'  ketch  me  tryin'  to  sail  close  to  Gulf  Rock 
when  'ee  can't  zee  a  boat's  length  ahead,"  he  said,  em- 
phatically. "  I  be  sorry,  ladies  both,  but  'ee  knaw  how 
the  tide  runs  over  the  reef,  an'  'tes  easy  to  drive  to  the 
wrong  side  of  the  light.  We'm  try  again  tomorrow. 
On'y  the  flowers  '11  spile.  All  the  rest  — 

Crash!  A  loud  explosion  burst  forth  from  the  dense 
heights  of  the  storm.  The  Daisy,  sturdy  as  she  was, 
seemed  to  shiver.  The  very  air  trembled  with  the  din. 
Pollard  had  his  hand  on  the  sail  to  swing  it  to  starboard 
when  Constance  put  the  tiller  over  to  bring  the  boat's 
head  up  against  the  wind.  For  an  instant  he  hesitated. 
Even  he,  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  sea,  was  startled. 
Both  girls  positively  jumped,  the  sudden  bang  of  the 
rocket  was  so  unexpected. 

"  Mister  Brand  must  ha'  zeed  us,"  pronounced  Ben. 
"That's  a  warnin'  to  we  to  go  back." 

The  words  had  scarce  left  his  lips  when  another  re- 
port smote  the  great  silence,  otherwise  unbroken  save 
by  the  quiet  plash  of  the  sea  against  the  bows  and  the 
faint  reverberations  of  the  distant  bell. 

"That  is  too  urgent  to  be  intended  for  us,"  said  Con- 
stance. "  We  were  just  half  way  when  the  snow  com- 
menced." 

"I  did  not  notice  any  vessel  near  the  rock,"  cried 
Enid,  tremulously.  "  Did  you,  Ben  ?  " 

Pollard's  slow  utterance  was  not  quick  enough.  Be- 
fore he  could  answer,  a  third  rocket  thundered  its  over- 
powering summons. 

"  That  is  the '  Help  wanted '  signal,"  cried  Constance. 
[50] 


The  Signal 

"Ben,  there  is  no  question  now  of  going  back.  We 
must  keep  our  present  course  for  twenty  minutes 
at  least,  and  then  take  to  the  oars.  The  bell  will 
guide  us." 

"Oh,  yes,  Ben,"  agreed  Enid.  "Something  has 
gone  wrong  on  the  rock  itself.  I  am  quite  sure  there 
was  no  ship  near  enough  to  be  in  trouble  already." 

"By  gum,  we'm  zee  what's  the  matter,"  growled 
Ben.  "  Steady  it  is,  Miss  Brand.  Ef  we'm  in  trouble 
I'd  as  soon  ha'  you  two  gells  aboard  as  any  two  men  in 
Penzance." 

At  another  time  the  compliment  would  have  earned 
him  a  torrent  of  sarcasm.  Now  it  passed  unheeded. 
The  situation  was  bewildering,  alarming.  There  were 
three  keepers  in  the  lighthouse.  The  signal  foreboded 
illness,  sudden  and  serious  illness.  Who  could  it  be  ? 

In  such  a  crisis  charity  begins  at  home.  Constance, 
with  set  face  and  shining  eyes,  Enid,  flushed  and  on 
the  verge  of  tears,  feared  lest  their  own  beloved  one 
should  be  the  sufferer. 

To  each  of  them  Stephen  Brand  was  equally  a  kind 
and  devoted  father.  He  never  allowed  Enid  to  feel 
that  she  was  dependent  on  his  bounty.  Only  the  other 
day,  when  she  hinted  at  the  adoption  of  an  art  career 
as  a  future  means  of  earning  a  livelihood,  he  approved 
of  the  necessary  study  but  laughed  at  the  reason. 

"With  your  pretty  face  and  saucy  ways,  Enid,"  he 

said,  "  I  shall  have  trouble  enough  to  keep  you  in  the 

nest  without  worrying  as  to  the  manner  of  your  leaving 

it.     Work  at  your  drawing,  by  all  means.     Avoid  color 

[51] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

as  the  bane  of  true  art.  But  where  Connie  and  I  live 
you  shall  live,  until  you  choose  to  forsake  us." 

No  wonder  these  girls  thought  there  was  no  other 
man  in  the  world  like  "dad."  Their  delightful  home 
was  idyllic  in  its  happiness :  their  only  sorrow  that  Brand 
should  be  away  two  months  out  of  three  on  account  of 
the  pursuit  in  which  he  passed  his  hours  of  leisure 
during  recent  years. 

Neither  dared  to  look  at  the  other.  They  could  not 
trust  themselves  even  to  speak.  There  was  relief  in 
action,  for  thought  was  torture. 

The  docile  Daisy  steadily  forged  through  the  waves. 
The  spasmodic  clang  of  the  bell  came  more  clearly 
each  minute.  Pollard,  kneeling  in  the  bows,  peered 
into  the  gloom  of  the  swirling  snow.  He  listened 
eagerly  to  the  bell.  With  right  hand  or  left  he  mo- 
tioned to  Constance  to  bring  the  boat's  head  nearer  to 
the  wind  or  permit  the  sail  to  fill  out  a  little  more. 

Enid,  ready  to  cast  the  canvas  loose  at  the  first  hint 
of  danger,  consulted  her  watch  frequently.  At  last 
she  cried: 

"Twenty  minutes,  Ben." 

What  a  relief  it  was  to  hear  her  own  voice.  The 
tension  was  becoming  unbearable. 

"  Right  y'  are,  missy.  No  need  to  slack  off  yet.  'Tes 
clearin'  a  bit.  We'm  heave  to  alongside  the  rock  in 
less'n  no  time." 

The  fisherman  was  right.  His  trained  senses  per- 
ceived a  distinct  diminution  in  the  volume  of  snow. 
Soon  they  could  see  fifty,  a  hundred,  two  hundred  yards 

[52] 


The  Signal 

ahead.  On  the  starboard  quarter  they  caught  a  con- 
fused rushing  noise,  like  the  subdued  murmur  of  a 
millrace.  The  tide  had  covered  the  rock. 

"  Luff  et  is! "  roared  Ben,  suddenly.     " Steady  now." 

Out  of  the  blurred  vista  a  ghostly  column  rose  in 
front.  Smooth  and  sheer  were  its  granite  walls,  with 
dark  little  casements  showing  black  in  the  weird  light. 
The  boat  rushed  past  the  Trinity  mooring-buoy.  She 
held  on  until  they  heard  the  sea  breaking. 

"  Lower  away ! "  cried  Ben,  and  the  yard  fell  with  a 
rfharp  rattle  that  showed  how  thoroughly  Enid  had  laid 
to  heart  Pollard's  tuition. 

Constance  brought  the  Daisy  round  in  a  wide  curve, 
and  Ben  got  out  the  oars  to  keep  her  from  being  dashed 
against  the  reef. 

Enid's  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  gallery  beneath 
the  lantern. 

"Lighthouse  ahoy!"  she  screamed  in  a  voice  high- 
pitched  with  emotion. 

There  was  no  answering  clang  of  the  door  leading 
from  the  room  on  a  level  with  the  balcony.  Not  often 
had  the  girls  visited  the  rock,  but  they  knew  that  this 
was  the  first  sign  they  might  expect  of  their  arrival 
being  noted  if  there  were  no  watchers  pacing  the  "  prom- 
enade." 

"Help  us,  Ben,"  cried  Constance,  and  their  united 
shouts  might  be  heard  a  mile  away  in  the  prevailing 
stillness.  A  window  half  way  up  the  tower  was  opened. 
A  man's  head  and  shoulders  appeared. 

It  was  Stephen  Brand. 

[53] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Thank  God!"  murmured  Constance. 

Enid,  on  whose  sensitive  soul  the  storm,  the  signal, 
the  hissing  rush  of  the  boat  through  the  waves,  had  cast 
a  spell  of  indefinite  terror,  bit  her  lip  to  restrain  her  tears. 

Brand  gave  a  glance  of  amazement  at  the  three  up- 
lifted faces.  But  this  was  no  time  for  surprise  or  ques- 
tion. 

"I  am  coming  down,"  he  shouted.  "Providence 
must  have  sent  you  at  this  moment." 

He  vanished. 

"  What  can  it  be  ?  "  said  Constance,  outwardly  calm 
now  in  the  assurance  that  her  father  was  safe. 

"  Must  ha'  bin  a  accident,"  said  Ben.  "  That  signal 
means  'Bring  a  doctor.'  An'  there  ain't  a  blessed  tug 
in  harbor,  nor  won't  be  till  the  tide  makes." 

"  That  will  mean  delay,"  cried  Enid. 

"Five  or  six  hours  at  least,  missy." 

The  main  door  at  the  head  of  the  iron  ladder  clamped 
to  the  stones  swung  back,  and  Brand  leaned  out.  He 
had  no  greeting  for  them,  nor  words  of  astonishment. 

"  When  will  the  tug  reach  here,  Ben  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  fisherman  told  him  the  opinion  he  had  formed. 

"Then  you  girls  must  come  and  help  me.  Jackson 
scalded  his  hands  and  arms  in  the  kitchen,  and  Bates 
was  hurrying  to  the  store-room  for  oil  and  whitening 
when  he  slipped  on  the  stairs  and  broke  his  leg.  We 
must  get  them  both  ashore.  Ben,  you  can  take  them  ?  " 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"Now,  Constance,  you  first.  Hold  tight  and  stand 
in  the  skip.  Your  boat  cannot  come  near  the  rock." 

[54] 


The  Signal 

He  swung  the  derrick  into  place  and  began  to  work 
the  windlass.  Constance,  cool  as  her  father,  whis- 
pered to  the  excited  Enid : 

"  Let  us  divide  the  parcels  and  take  half  each." 

"Oh,  I  should  have  forgotten  all  about  them,"  said 
Enid,  stooping  to  empty  the  lockers. 

Constance,  without  flickering  an  eyelid,  stepped  into 
the  strong  basket  with  its  iron  hoops,  and,  having  ar- 
ranged some  of  the  plethoric  paper  bags  at  her  feet, 
told  her  father  to  "hoist  away." 

She  arrived  safely.  Enid  followed  her,  with  equal 
sang  froid,  though  a  lift  of  forty  odd  feet  whilst  standing 
in  a  skip  and  clinging  to  a  rope  is  not  an  every-day  ex- 
perience. 

"Dang  me,"  said  Ben,  as  Enid,  too,  was  swung  into 
the  lighthouse,  "but  they're  two  plucked  'uns." 

The  great  bell  tolled  away,  though  the  snow  had 
changed  to  sleet,  and  the  heights  beyond  the  Land's 
End  were  dimly  visible,  so  its  warning  note  was  no 
longer  needed.  The  sky  above  was  clearing.  A 
luminous  haze  spreading  over  the  waters  heralded  the 
return  of  the  sun.  But  the  wind  was  bitterly  cold;  the 
fisherman  watching  the  open  door,  with  one  eye  on 
the  sea  lest  an  adventurous  wave  should  sweep  the 
Daisy  against  the  rock,  murmured  to  himself: 

"  'Tes  a  good  job  the  wind  's  i'  the  norrard.  This 
sort  o'  thing's  a  weather-breeder,  or  my  name  ain't 
Ben  Pollard." 

And  that  was  how  Enid  came  back  to  the  Gulf  Rock 
to  enter  upon  the  second  great  epoch  of  her  life. 
[55] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Once  before  had  the  reef  taken  her  to  its  rough  heart 
and  fended  her  from  peril.  Would  it  shield  her  again 
—  rescue  her  from  the  graver  danger  whose  shadow 
even  now  loomed  out  of  the  deep.  What  was  the  bell 
saying  in  its  wistful  monotony  ? 

Enid  neither  knew  nor  cared.  Just  then  she  had 
other  things  to  think  about. 


[56] 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  VOICE  OF  THE   REEF 

THERE  comes  a  time  in  the  life  of  every  thinking  man 
or  woman  when  the  argosy  of  existence,  floating  placidly 
on  a  smooth  and  lazy  stream,  gathers  unto  itself  speed, 
rushes  swiftly  onward  past  familiar  landmarks  of  cus- 
tom and  convention,  boils  furiously  over  resisting  rocks, 
and  ultimately,  if  not  submerged  in  an  unknown  sea, 
finds  itself  again  meandering  through  new  plains  of 
wider  horizon. 

Such  a  perilous  passage  can  never  be  foreseen.  The 
rapids  may  begin  where  the  trees  are  highest  and  the 
meadows  most  luxuriant.  No  warning  is  given.  The 
increased  pace  of  events  is  pleasant  and  exhilarating. 
Even  the  last  wild  plunge  over  the  cascade  is  neither 
resented  nor  feared.  Some  frail  craft  are  shattered  in 
transit,  some  wholly  sunken,  some  emerge  with  riven 
sails  and  tarnished  embellishments.  A  few  not  only 
survive  the  ordeal,  but  thereby  fit  themselves  for  more 
daring  exploits,  more  soul-stirring  adventures. 

When  the  two  girls  stood  with  Stephen  Brand  in  the 
narrow  entrance  to  the  lighthouse,  the  gravity  of  their 
bright  young  faces  was  due  solely  to  the  fact  that  their 

[57] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

father  had  announced  the  serious  accidents  which  had 
befallen  his  assistants.  No  secret  monitor  whispered 
that  fate,  in  her  bold  and  merciless  dramatic  action, 
had  roughly  removed  two  characters  from  the  stage  to 
clear  it  for  more  striking  events. 

Not  once  in  twenty  years  has  it  happened  that  two 
out  of  the  three  keepers  maintained  on  a  rock  station 
within  signaling  distance  of  the  shore  have  become 
incapacitated  for  duty  on  the  same  day.  The  thing 
was  so  bewilderingly  sudden,  the  arrival  of  Constance 
and  Enid  on  the  scene  so  timely  and  unexpected,  that 
Brand,  a  philosopher  of  ready  decision  in  most  affairs 
of  life,  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do  for  the  best  now  that 
help,  of  a  sort  undreamed  of,  was  at  hand. 

The  case  of  Jackson,  who  was  scalded,  was  simple 
enough.  The  Board  of  Trade  medicine  chest  supplied 
to  each  lighthouse  is  a  facsimile  of  that  carried  by 
every  sea-going  steamship.  It  contained  the  ordi- 
nary remedies  for  such  an  injury,  and  there  would 
be  little  difficulty  or  danger  in  lowering  the  sufferer  to 
the  boat. 

But  Bates's  affair  was  different.  He  lay  almost 
where  he  had  fallen.  Brand  had  only  lifted  him  into 
the  store-room  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  placing  a 
pillow  beneath  his  head,  and  appealing  both  to  him 
and  to  Jackson  to  endure  their  torture  unmoved  whilst 
he  went  to  signal  for  assistance. 

The  problem  that  confronted  him  now  was  one  of 
judgment.  Was  is  better  to  await  the  coming  of  the 
doctor  or  endeavor  to  transfer  Bates  to  the  boat  ? 

[58] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

He  consulted  Ben  Pollard  again;  the  girls  were  al- 
ready climbing  the  steep  stairs  to  sympathize  with  and 
tend  to  the  injured  men. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  blow  harder,  Ben,  when  the 
tide  turns  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  old  fellow  seemed  to  regard  the  question  as  most 
interesting  and  novel.  Indeed,  to  him,  some  such 
query  and  its  consideration  provided  the  chief  problem 
of  each  day.  Therefore  he  surveyed  land,  sea  and  sky 
most  carefully  before  he  replied : 

"It  may  be  a'most  anything  afore  night,  Misser 
Brand." 

At  another  time  Brand  would  have  smiled.  Today 
he  was  nervous,  distraught,  wrenched  out  of  the  worn 
rut  of  things. 

"I  fancy  there  is  some  chance  of  the  doctor  being 
unable  to  land  when  he  reaches  the  rock.  Do  you 
agree  with  me  ?  " 

His  voice  rang  sharply.  Ben  caught  its  note  and 
dropped  his  weather-wise  ambiguity. 

"  It'll  blow  harder,  an'  mebbe  snaw  agin,"  he  said. 

"I  shall  need  some  help  here  in  that  case,  so  I  will 
retain  the  young  ladies.  Of  course  you  can  manage 
the  boat  easily  enough  without  them  ?  " 

Pollard  grinned  reassuringly. 

"  We'm  run  straight  in  wi'  thiccy  wind,"  he  said. 

So  they  settled  it  that  way,  all  so  simply. 

A  man  sets  up  two  slim  masts  a  thousand  miles  apart 
and  flashes  comprehensible  messages  across  the  void. 
The  multitude  gapes  at  first,  but  soon  accepts  the  thing 
[59] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

as  reasonable.     "Wireless  telegraphy"  is  the  term,  as 
one  says  "by  mail." 

A  whole  drama  was  flowing  over  a  curve  of  the  earth 
at  that  moment  but  the  Marconi  station  was  invisible. 
There  was  no  expert  in  telepathic  sensation  present  to 
tell  Brand  and  the  fisherman  that  their  commonplace 
words  covered  a  magic  code. 

Jackson,  white  and  mute,  was  lowered  first.  The 
brave  fellow  would  not  content  himself  with  nursing 
his  agony  amidst  the  cushions  aft.  When  Bates,  given 
some  slight  strength  by  a  stiff  dose  of  brandy,  was  car- 
ried, with  infinite  care,  down  three  flights  of  steep  and 
narrow  stairs,  and  slung  to  the  crane  in  an  iron  cot  to 
be  lowered  in  his  turn,  Jackson  stood  up.  Heedless 
of  remonstrances,  he  helped  to  steady  the  cot  and  adjust 
it  amidships  clear  of  the  sail. 

"  Well  done,  Artie,"  said  Brand's  clear  voice. 

"Oh,  brave!"  murmured  Enid. 

"  We  will  visit  you  every  day  at  the  hospital,"  sang 
out  Constance. 

Jackson  smiled,  yes,  smiled,  though  his  bandaged 
arms  quivered  and  the  seared  nerves  of  his  hands 
throbbed  excruciatingly.  Speak  aloud  he  could  not 
Yet  he  bent  over  his  more  helpless  mate  and  whispered 
hoarsely : 

"Cheer  up,  old  man.  Your  case  is  worse'n  mine. 
An'  ye  did  it  for  me." 

Pollard,  with  a  soul  gnarled  as  his  body,  yet  had  a 
glimpse  of  higher  things  when  he  muttered : 

[60] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

"  D'ye  think  ye  can  hold  her,  mate,  whiles  I  hoist  the 
cloth?" 

Jackson  nodded.  The  request  was  a  compliment, 
a  recognition.  He  sat  down  and  hooked  the  tiller  be- 
tween arm  and  ribs.  Ben  hauled  with  a  will;  the 
Daisy,  as  if  she  were  glad  to  escape  the  cascades  of 
green  water  swirling  over  the  rock,  sprang  into  instant 
animation.  The  watchers  from  the  lighthouse  saw 
Ben  relieve  the  steersman  and  tenderly  arrange  the 
cushions  behind  his  back.  Then  Brand  closed  the  iron 
doors  and  the  three  were  left  in  dim  obscurity. 

They  climbed  nearly  a  hundred  feet  of  stairways 
and  emerged  on  to  the  cornice  balcony  after  Brand 
had  stopped  the  clockwork  which  controlled  the  ham- 
mer of  the  bell. 

What  a  difference  up  here!  The  sea,  widened  im- 
measurably, had  changed  its  color.  Now  it  was  a 
sullen  blue  gray.  The  land  was  nearer  and  higher. 
The  Daisy  had  shrunk  to  a  splash  of  dull  brown  on  the 
tremendous  ocean  prairie.  How  fierce  and  keen  the 
wind!  How  disconsolate  the  murmur  of  the  reef! 

Brand,  adjusting  his  binoculars,  scrutinized  the  boat. 

"All  right  aboard,"  he  said.  "I  think  we  have 
adopted  the  wiser  course.  They  will  reach  Penzance 
by  half-past  two." 

His  next  glance  was  towards  the  Land's  End  signal 
station.  A  line  of  flags  fluttered  out  to  the  right  of  the 
staff. 

"Signal    noted    and    forwarded,"    he    read    aloud. 
"  That  is  all  right;  but  the  wind  has  changed." 
[61] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Enid  popped  inside  the  lantern  for  shelter.  It  was 
bitterly  cold. 

"Better  follow  her  example,  Connie,"  said  Brand, 
to  his  daughter.  "I  will  draw  the  curtains.  We  can 
see  just  as  well  and  be  comfortable." 

Indeed,  the  protection  of  the  stout  plate  glass,  so 
thick  and  tough  that  sea-birds  on  a  stormy  night  dashed 
themselves  to  painless  death  against  it,  was  very  wel- 
come. Moreover,  though  neither  of  the  girls  would 
admit  it,  there  was  a  sense  of  security  here  which  was 
strangely  absent  when  they  looked  into  the  abyss  be- 
neath the  stone  gallery.  Constance  balancing  a  tele- 
scope, Enid  peering  through  the  field-glasses,  followed 
the  progress  of  the  Daisy  in  silence,  but  Brand's  eyes 
wandered  uneasily  from  the  barometer,  which  had 
fallen  rapidly  during  the  past  hour,  to  the  cyclonic 
nimbus  spreading  its  dark  mass  beyond  the  Seven 
Stones  Lightship.  The  sun  had  vanished,  seemingly 
for  the  day,  and  the  indicator  attached  to  the  base  of 
the  wind  vane  overhead  pointed  now  sou'west  by  west. 
It  would  not  require  much  further  variation  to  bring 
about  a  strong  blow  from  the  true  southwest,  a  quarter 
responsible  for  most  of  the  fierce  gales  that  sweep  the 
English  Channel. 

Nevertheless,  this  quick  darting  about  of  the  fickle 
breeze  did  not  usually  betoken  lasting  bad  weather. 
At  the  worst,  the  girls  might  be  compelled  to  pass  the 
night  on  the  rock.  He  knew  that  the  tug  with  the  two 
relief  men  would  make  a  valiant  effort  to  reach  the 
lighthouse  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  When 

[62] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

the  men  joined  him  the  girls  could  embark.  As  it  was, 
the  affair  was  spiced  with  adventure.  Were  it  not  for 
the  mishap  to  the  assistant-keepers  the  young  people 
would  have  enjoyed  themselves  thoroughly.  The  new 
airt  of  the  wind,  too,  would  send  the  Daisy  speedily 
back  to  port.  This,  in  itself,  justified  the  course  he 
had  taken.  On  the  whole,  a  doubtful  situation  was 
greatly  relieved.  His  face  brightened.  With  a  grave 
humor  not  altogether  artificial,  he  cried: 

"Now,  Constance,  I  did  not  take  you  aboard  as  a 
visitor.  Between  us  we  ought  to  muster  a  good  appe- 
tite. Come  with  me  to  the  store-room.  I  will  get  you 
anything  you  want  and  leave  you  in  charge  of  the  kit- 
chen." 

"  And  poor  me ! "  chimed  in  Enid. 

"  Oh,  you,  miss,  are  appointed  upper  house-maid. 
And  mind  you,  no  followers." 

"Mercy!     I  nearly  lost  my  situation  before  I  got  it." 

"How?" 

"We  met  Jack  Stanhope  and  asked  him  to  come 
with  us." 

"You  asked  him,  you  mean,"  said  Constance. 

"  And  you  met  him,  I  meant,"  said  Enid. 

"I  don't  care  a  pin  how  you  treated  Stanhope,  so 
long  as  you  didn't  bring  him,"  said  Brand,  "though, 
indeed,  he  would  have  been  useful  as  it  turned  out." 

When  lunch  was  ready  they  summoned  him  by  the 
electric  bells  he  had  put  up  throughout  the  building. 
It  gave  them  great  joy  to  discover  in  the  living  room  a 
code  of  signals  which  covered  a  variety  of  messages. 

[63] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

They  rang  him  downstairs  by  the  correct  call  for  "  Meal 
served." 

It  was  a  hasty  repast,  as  Brand  could  not  remain  long 
away  from  the  glass-covered  observatory,  but  they  all 
enjoyed  it  immensely.  He  left  them,  as  he  said,  "to 
gobble  up  the  remains,"  but  soon  he  shouted  down  the 
stairs  to  tell  them  that  the  Daisy  had  rounded  Carn  du. 
He  could  not  tell  them,  not  knowing  it,  that  at  that  pre- 
cise moment  old  Ben  Pollard  was  frantically  signaling 
to  Lieutenant  Stanhope  to  change  the  course  of  the 
small  steam  yacht  he  had  commandeered  as  soon  as  the 
murmur  ran  through  the  town  that  the  Gulf  Rock  was 
flying  the  "  Help  wanted  "  signal. 

The  officials  did  not  know  that  Brand  was  compelled 
by  the  snowstorm  to  use  rockets.  All  the  information 
they  possessed  was  the  message  from  Land's  End  and 
its  time  of  dispatch. 

Jack  Stanhope's  easy-going  face  became  very  strenu- 
ous, indeed,  when  he  heard  the  news. 

The  hour  stated  was  precisely  the  time  the  Daisy 
was  due  at  the  rock  if  she  made  a  good  trip.  Without 
allowing  for  any  possible  contingency  save  disaster  to 
the  two  girls  and  their  escort,  he  rushed  to  the  mooring- 
place  of  the  10-ton  steam-yacht  Lapwing,  impounded 
a  couple  of  lounging  sailors,  fired  up,  stoked,  and  steered 
the  craft  himself,  and  was  off  across  the  Bay  in  a  quar- 
ter of  the  time  that  the  owner  of  the  Lapwing  could 
have  achieved  the  same  result. 

His  amazement  was  complete  when  he  encountered 
the  redoubtable  Daisy  bowling  home  before  a  seven- 

[64] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

knot  breeze.  He  instantly  came  round  and  ranged  up 
to  speaking  distance.  When  he  learnt  what  had  oc- 
curred he  readily  agreed  to  return  to  Penzance  in  order 
to  pick  up  the  relief  lighthouse-keepers,  and  thus  save 
time  in  transferring  them  to  the  rock. 

In  a  word,  as  Enid  Trevillion  was  safe,  he  was  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  bringing  her  back  that  even- 
ing, when  the  real  skipper  of  the  Lapwing  would  prob- 
ably have  charge  of  his  own  boat.  There  was  no  hurry 
at  all  now. 

If  they  left  the  harbor  at  three  o'clock,  there  would 
still  be  plenty  of  light  to  reach  the  Gulf  Rock.  Ben 
Pollard,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  as  the  Daisy  raced 
towards  Penzance  side  by  side  with  the  Lapwing,  was 
not  so  sure  of  this.  But  the  arrangement  he  had  sug- 
gested was  the  best  possible  one,  and  he  was  only  an 
old  fisherman  who  knew  the  coast,  whereas  Master 
Stanhope  pinned  his  faith  to  the  Nautical  Almanac 
and  the  Rules. 

The  people  most  concerned  knew  nothing  of  these 
proceedings. 

When  Constance  and  Enid  had  solemnly  decided  on 
the  menu  for  dinner,  when  they  had  inspected  the  kit- 
chen and  commended  the  cleanliness  of  the  cook,  Jack- 
son, when  they  had  washed  the  dishes  and  discovered 
the  whereabouts  of  the  "tea-things,"  they  suddenly 
determined  that  it  was  much  nicer  aloft  in  the  sky  par- 
lor than  in  these  dim  little  rooms. 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  don't  have  decent  windows," 
said  Enid.  "Of  course  it  blows  hard  here  in  a  gale, 

[65] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

but  just  look  at  that  tiny  ventilator,  no  bigger  than  a 
ship's  port-hole,  with  a  double  storm-shutter  to  secure 
it  if  you  please,  for  all  the  world  as  if  the  sea  rose  so 
high!" 

Constance  took  thought  for  a  while. 

"I  suppose  the  sea  never  does  reach  this  height," 
she  said. 

Enid,  in  order  to  look  out,  had  to  thrust  her  head 
and  shoulders  through  an  aperture  two  feet  square 
and  three  feet  in  depth.  They  were  in  the  living-room 
at  that  moment  —  full  seventy  feet  above  the  spring 
tide  high-water  mark.  Sixty  feet  higher,  the  cornice 
of  the  gallery  was  given  its  graceful  outer  slope  to  shoot 
the  climbing  wave-crests  of  an  Atlantic  gale  away  from 
the  lantern.  The  girls  could  not  realize  this  stupendous 
fact.  Brand  had  never  told  them.  He  wished  them 
to  sleep  peacefully  on  stormy  nights  when  he  was  away 
from  home.  They  laughed  now  at  the  fanciful  notion 
that  the  sea  could  ever  so  much  as  toss  its  spray  at  the 
window  of  the  living-room. 

They  passed  into  the  narrow  stairway.  Their  voices 
and  footsteps  sounded  hollow.  It  was  to  the  floor  be- 
neath that  Bates  had  fallen. 

"I  don't  think  I  like  living  in  a  lighthouse,"  cried 
Enid.  "  It  gives  one  the  creeps." 

"Surely,  there  are  neither  ghosts  nor  ghouls  here," 
said  Constance.  "It  is  modern,  scientific,  utilitarian 
in  every  atom  of  its  solid  granite." 

But  Enid  was  silent  as  they  climbed  the  steep  stairs. 
Once  she  stopped  and  peeped  into  her  father's  bedroom. 

[66] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

"That  is  where  they  brought  me  when  I  first  came 
to  the  rock,"  she  whispered.  "It  used  to  be  Mr. 
Jones's  room.  I  remember  dad  saying  so." 

Constance,  on  whose  shoulders  the  reassuring  cloak  of 
science  hung  somewhat  loosely,  placed  her  arm  around 
her  sister's  waist  in  a  sudden  access  of  tenderness. 

"You  have  improved  in  appearance  since  then, 
Enid,"  she  said. 

"  What  a  wizened  little  chip  I  must  have  looked.  I 
wonder  who  I  am." 

"  I  know  who  you  soon  will  be  if  you  don't  take  care." 

Enid  blushed  prettily.  She  glanced  at  herself  in  a 
small  mirror  on  the  wall.  Trust  a  woman  to  find  a 
mirror  in  any  apartment. 

"I  suppose  Jack  will  ask  me  to  marry  him,"  she 
mused. 

"  And  what  will  you  reply  ?  " 

The  girl's  lips  parted.  Her  eyes  shone  for  an  instant. 
Then  she  buried  her  face  against  her  sister's  bosom. 

"  O,  Connie,"  she  wailed,  "  I  shall  hate  to  leave  you 
and  dad.  Why  hasn't  Jack  got  a  brother  as  nice  as 
himself." 

Whereupon  Constance  laughed  loud  and  long. 

The  relief  was  grateful  to  both.  Enid's  idea  of  a 
happy  solution  of  the  domestic  difficulty  appealed  to 
their  easily  stirred  sense  of  humor. 

"Never   mind,    dear,"   gasped    Constance    at    last. 
"  You  shall  marry  your  Jack  and  invite  all  the  nice  men 
to  dinner.     Good  gracious!     I  will  have  the  pick  of 
the  navy.     Perhaps  the  Admiral  may  be  a  widower." 
[67] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

With  flushed  faces  they  reached  the  region  of  light. 
Brand  was  writing  at  a  small  desk  in  the  service-room. 

"Something  seems  to  have  amused  you,"  he  said. 
"I  have  heard  weird  peals  ascending  from  the  depths." 

"Connie  is  going  to  splice  the  admiral,"  explained 
Enid. 

"What  admiral?" 

"Any  old  admiral." 

"Indeed,  I  will  not  take  an  old  admiral,"  protested 
the  elder. 

"Then  you  had  better  take  him  when  he  is  a  lieu- 
tenant," said  Brand. 

This  offered  too  good  an  opening  to  be  resisted. 

"  Enid  has  already  secured  the  lieutenant,"  she  mur- 
mured, with  a  swift  glance  at  the  other. 

Brand  looked  up  quizzically. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  cried,  "  if  my  congratulations  are  not 
belated—" 

Enid  was  blushing  again.  She  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"  Don't  believe  her,  dad,"  she  said.     "  She's  jealous ! " 

Constance  saw  a  book  lying  on  the  table:  "  Regula- 
tions for  the  Lighthouse  Service."  She  opened  it. 
Brand  stroked  Enid's  hair  gently,  and  resumed  the 
writing  of  his  daily  journal. 

"  The  Elder  Brethren ! "  whispered  Constance.  "  Do 
they  wear  long  white  beards  ?  " 

"  And  carry  wands  ?  "  added  the  recovered  Enid. 

"  And  dress  in  velvet  cloaks  and  buckled  shoes  ?  " 

"And—" 

[68] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

"  And  say  '  Boo '  to  naughty  little  girls  who  won't  let 
me  complete  my  diary,"  shouted  Brand.  "Be  off, 
both  of  you.  Keep  a  lookout  for  the  next  ten  minutes. 
If  you  see  any  signals  from  the  mainland,  or  catch  sight 
of  the  Lancelot,  call  me." 

They  climbed  to  the  trimming  stage  of  the  lantern, 
which  was  level  with  the  external  gallery.  Obedient 
to  instructions,  they  searched  the  Land's  End  and  the 
wide  reach  of  Mount's  Bay  beyond  Cam  du.  Save  a 
scudding  sail  or  two  beating  in  from  the  Lizard  and  a 
couple  of  big  steamers  hurrying  from  the  East  —  one 
a  Transatlantic  Transport  liner  from  London  —  there 
was  nothing  visible.  In  the  far  distance  the  sea  looked 
smooth  enough,  though  they  needed  no  explanation  of 
the  reality  when  they  saw  the  irregular  white  patches 
glistening  against  the  hull  of  a  Penzance  fishing-smack. 

"  O,  Connie,  the  reef ! "  said  Enid,  suddenly,  in  a  low 
voice. 

They  glanced  at  the  turbid  retreat  of  the  tide  over 
the  submerged  rocks.  The  sea  was  heavier,  the  noise 
louder,  now  that  they  listened  to  it,  than  when  they 
arrived  in  the  Daisy,  little  more  than  an  hour  earlier. 
Some  giant  force  seemed  to  be  wrestling  there,  raging 
against  its  bonds,  striving  feverishly  to  tear,  rend,  ut- 
terly destroy  its  invisible  fetters.  Sometimes,  after  an 
unusually  impetuous  surge,  a  dark  shape,  trailing 
witch-tresses  of  weed,  showed  for  an  instant  in  the  pit 
of  the  cauldron.  Then  a  mad  whirl  of  water  would 
pounce  on  it  with  a  fearsome  spring  and  the  fang  of  rock 
would  be  smothered  ten  feet  deep. 

[69] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

For  some  reason  they  did  not  talk.  They  were  fas- 
cinated by  the  power,  the  grandeur,  the  untamed  energy 
of  the  spectacle.  The  voice  of  the  reef  held  them  spell- 
bound. They  listened  mutely. 

Beneath,  Brand  wrote,  with  scholarly  ease: 

"Therefore  I  decided  that  it  would  best  serve  the 
interests  of  the  Board  if  I  sent  Bates  and  Jackson  to 
Penzance  in  the  boat  in  which  my  daughter  —  "  he 
paused  an  instant  and  added  an"  s "  to  the  word  — 
"fortunately  happened  to  visit  me.  As  I  would  be 
alone  on  the  rock,  and  the  two  girls  might  be  helpful 
until  the  relief  came,  I  retained  them." 

He  glanced  at  the  weather-glass  in  front  of  him  and 
made  a  note: 

"Barometer  falling.     Temperature  higher." 

In  another  book  he  entered  the  exact  records.  A 
column  headed  "Wind  direction  and  force,"  caused 
him  to  look  up  at  the  wind  vane.  He  whistled  softly. 

"S.  W.,"  he  wrote,  and  after  a  second's  thought  in- 
serted the  figure  6.  The  sailor's  scale,  ye  landsman, 
differs  from  yours.  What  you  term  a  gale  at  sea  he 
joyfully  hails  as  a  fresh  breeze.  No.  6  is  a  point  above 
this  limit,  when  a  well-conditioned  clipper  ship  can  carry 
single  reefs  and  top-gallant  sails,  in  chase  full  and  by. 
No.  12  is  a  hurricane.  "  Bare  poles,"  says  the  scale. 

Slowly  mounting  the  iron  ladder,  he  stood  beside  the 
silent  watchers.  The  Bay  was  nearly  deserted.  No 
sturdy  tug-boat  was  pouring  smoke  from  her  funnel 
and  staggering  towards  the  rock.  Northwest  and 
west  the  darkness  was  spreading  and  lowering. 

[70] 


The  Voice  of  the  Reef 

He  did  not  trouble  to  examine  the  reef.  Its  signs 
and  tokens  were  too  familiar  to  him.  Its  definite  bel- 
low or  muttered  threat  was  part  of  the  prevailing  in- 
fluence of  the  hour  or  day.  He  had  heard  its  voice  too 
often  to  find  an  omen  in  it  now. 

"This  time  I  must  congratulate  both  of  you,"  he 
said  quietly. 

"  On  what  ? "  they  cried  in  unison,  shrill  with  unac- 
knowledged excitement. 

"  Ladies  seldom,  if  ever,  pass  a  night  on  a  rock  light- 
house. You  will  have  that  rare  privilege." 

Enid  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  am  delighted,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Will  there  be  a  storm,  father  ?  "  asked  Constance. 

"  I  think  so.  At  any  rate,  only  a  miracle  will  enable 
the  tug  to  reach  us  before  tomorrow,  and  miracles  are 
not  frequent  occurrences  at  sea." 

"I  know  of  one,"  was  Enid's  comment,  with  great 
seriousness  for  her.  He  read  her  thought. 

"  I  was  younger  then,"  he  smiled.  "  Now  I  am  fifty, 
and  the  world  has  aged." 


[71] 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  HURRICANE 

THEY  descended  into  the  service-room. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Enid;  "it  will  be  nineteen  years 
on  the  22d  of  next  June,  since  you  found  me  floating 
serenely  towards  the  Gulf  Rock  in  a  deserted  boat  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  insist  on  accuracy  as  to  the  date.  I 
might  cavil  at  your  serenity." 

"  And  I  was  '  estimated '  as  a  year  old  then  ?  Isn't 
it  a  weird  thing  that  a  year-old  baby  should  be  sent 
adrift  on  the  Atlantic  in  an  open  boat  and  never  a  word 
of  inquiry  made  subsequently  as  to  her  fate?  I  fear 
I  could  not  have  been  of  much  account  in  those  days." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  have  always  told  you  that  the  boat 
had  been  in  collision  during  the  fog  which  had  prevailed 
for  several  days  previously.  Those  who  were  caring  for 
you  were  probably  knocked  overboard  and  drowned." 

"  But  alone !  Utterly  alone !  That  is  the  strangeness 
of  it.  I  must  be  an  American.  Americans  start  out 
to  hustle  for  themselves  early  in  life,  don't  they." 

"  Certainly,  in  that  respect  you  might  claim  the 
record." 

Brand  had  not  told  her  all  the  facts  of  that  memorable 
[72] 


The  Hurricane 

June  morning.  Why  should  he?  They  were  not 
pleasant  memories  to  him.  Why  cumber  her  also  with 
them  ?  For  the  rest,  he  had  drawn  up  and  read  to  her, 
long  ago,  a  carefully  compiled  account  of  her  rescue 
and  the  steps  taken  to  discover  her  identity. 

"I  entered  on  an  active  and  useful  career  with  no 
such  halo  of  glory,"  broke  in  Constance.  "I  am  just 
plain  English,  born  in  Brighton,  of  parents  not  poor 
but  respectable.  Mother  died  a  year  after  my  birth, 
didn't  she,  dad  ?  " 

"You  were  thirteen  months  old  when  we  lost  her," 
he  answered,  bending  over  the  clock-work  attachment 
of  the  fog  bell  to  wipe  off  an  invisible  speck  of  dust. 
Since  his  first  term  of  service  on  the  rock  the  light  had 
changed  from  an  occulting  to  a  fixed  one. 

"She  is  buried  there,  isn't  she,"  the  girl  went  on. 
"How  strange  that,  amidst  our  many  journeyings,  we 
have  never  visited  Brighton." 

"  If  I  were  able  to  take  you  to  her  grave-side,  I  would 
not  do  it,"  said  Brand.  "I  do  not  encourage  morbid 
sentiments,  even  of  that  perfectly  natural  kind.  Your 
mother,  to  you,  Constance,  is  like  Enid's  to  her,  a  dear 
but  visionary  legend.  In  a  degree,  it  is  always  so  be- 
tween loved  ones  lost  and  those  who  are  left.  Truth, 
honor,  work,  these  are  the  highest  ideals  for  the  in- 
dividual. They  satisfy  increasingly.  Happy  as  I  am 
in  your  companionship,  you  must  not  be  vexed  when  I 
tell  you  that  the  most  truly  joyful  moment  of  my  life 
was  conferred  when  my  little  friend  here  first  responded 
accurately  to  external  influences." 

[73] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

He  laid  his  hand  on  an  object  resting  on  a  table  by 
itself.  It  looked  like  an  aneroid  barometer,  but  the 
others  knew  it  was  the  marine  auriscope  to  which  he 
had  devoted  so  many  patient  hours. 

"  Is  it  in  working  order  now  ?  "  asked  Constance  in- 
stantly, and  Enid  came  nearer.  Together  they  ex- 
amined the  small  dial.  It  was  equipped  with  an  arrow- 
headed  pointer,  and  marked  with  the  divisions  of  the 
compass  but  without  the  distinguishing  letters. 

These  three  understood  each  other  exactly.  By 
inadvertence,  the  conversation  had  touched  on  a  topic 
concerning  which  Brand  was  always  either  vague  or 
silent.  Both  girls  were  quick-witted  enough  to  know 
that  Constance's  mother  was  never  willingly  alluded 
to  either  by  the  lighthouse-keeper  or  by  the  elderly 
Mrs.  Sheppard  who  looked  after  them  in  infancy,  and 
was  now  the  housekeeper  of  Laburnum  Cottage. 

Constance  was  annoyed.  How  could  she  have  been 
so  thoughtless  as  to  cause  her  father  a  moment's  suffer- 
ing by  bringing  up  painful  reminiscences.  But  he 
helped  her,  being  master  of  himself. 

He  adjusted  a  switch  in  the  instrument. 

"I  had  no  difficulty  in  constructing  a  diaphragm 
which  would  intercept  all  sounds,"  he  said.  "The 
struggle  came  when  I  wanted  an  agent  which  would 
distinguish  and  register  a  particular  set  of  sounds,  no 
matter  what  additional  din  might  be  prevalent  at  the 
same  time.  My  hopes  were  wrecked  so  often  that  I 
began  to  despair,  until  I  chanced  one  day  to  read  how 
the  high-tension  induction  coil  could  be  tuned  to  dis- 

[74] 


The  Hurricane 

regard  electrical  influences  other  than  those  issued  at 
the  same  pitch.  My  anxiety,  until  I  had  procured  and 
experimented  with  a  properly  constructed  coil,  was 
very  trying,  I  assure  you." 

"I  remember  wondering  what  on  earth  it  was," 
volunteered  Enid.  "It  sounded  like  a  mathematical 
snake." 

"  And  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  even  yet  I  am  profoundly 
ignorant  as  to  its  true  inwardness,"  smiled  Constance. 

"  Yet  you  girls  delight  in  poets  who  bid  you  hearken 
to  the  music  of  the  spheres.  I  suppose  you  will  admit 
that  the  ear  of,  say,  Ben  Pollard,  is  not  tuned  to  such  a 
celestial  harmony.  However,  I  will  explain  my  auri- 
scope  in  a  sentence.  It  only  listens  to  and  indicates 
the  direction  of  foghorns,  sirens,  and  ship's  bells.  A 
shrill  steam  whistle  excites  it,  but  the  breaking  of  seas 
aboard  ship,  the  loud  flapping  of  a  propeller,  the  noise 
of  the  engines,  of  a  gale,  or  all  these  in  combination, 
leave  it  unmoved." 

"  I  remember  once,  when  we  were  going  from  Fal- 
mouth  to  Porthalla  in  a  fog,  how  dreadfully  difficult  it 
was  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  another  steamer 
we  passed  en  route,"  said  his  daughter. 

"  Well,  with  this  little  chap  on  the  bridge,  the  pointer 
would  have  told  the  captain  unerringly.  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  be  thick  whilst  you  are  here,  or  you  would 
see  it  pick  up  the  distant  blasts  of  a  steamer  long  before 
we  can  hear  them,  arid  follow  her  course  right  round 
the  arc  of  her  passage.  It  is  most  interesting  to  watch 
its  activity  when  there  are  several  ships  using  their 

[75] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

sirens.  I  have  never  had  an  opportunity  of  testing  it 
on  more  than  three  vessels  at  once,  but  as  soon  as 
I  could  deduce  a  regular  sequence  in  the  seemingly 
erratic  movements  of  the  indicator,  I  marked 
the  approach  and  passing  of  each  with  the  utmost 
ease." 

"  Would  that  stop  collisions  at  sea  ?  " 

"Nothing  will  do  that,  because  some  ship's  officers 
refuse  at  times  to  exercise  due  care.  But  with  my 
instrument  on  board  two  ships,  and  a  time  chart  at- 
tached to  the  drums,  there  would  be  no  need  for  a  Board 
of  Trade  inquiry  to  determine  whether  or  not  the  proper 
warning  was  given.  To  the  vast  majority  of  navigators 
it  will  prove  an  absolute  blessing." 

"You  clever  old  thing!"  cried  Enid.  "I  suppose 
you  will  make  heaps  of  money  out  of  it." 

"  The  inventor  is  the  last  man  to  make  money  out  of 
his  inventions,  as  a  rule,"  said  Brand.  "I  suppose  I 
differ  from  the  ordinary  poor  fellow  inasmuch  as  I  am 
not  dependent  for  a  livelihood  on  the  success  of  my 
discovery." 

"There's  not  the  least  little  bit  of  chance  of  there 
being  a  fog  tonight  ?  "  queried  Enid,  so  earnestly  that  a 
wave  of  merriment  rippled  through  the  room. 

"Not  the  least.  In  any  event,  you  two  girls  will  be 
in  bed  and  sound  asleep  at  ten  o'clock." 

"Perish  the  thought!"  cried  Constance.  "Bed  at 
ten,  during  our  first  and  only  night  on  a  lighthouse ! " 

"You  will  see,"  said  her  father.  "You  cannot 
imagine  how  the  clock  dawdles  in  this  circumscribed 

[76] 


The  Hurricane 

area.  Work  alone  conquers  it.  Otherwise,  men 
would  quit  the  service  after  a  month's  experience." 

"Ship  ahoy!"  screamed  Enid.  "Here  comes  the 
Lapwing  round  Cam  du.  Mr.  Lawton  must  have  lent 
her  to  bring  the  relief.  How  kind  of  him." 

"The  Lapwing  cannot  approach  the  rock,"  said 
Brand.  "I  will  signal  'Landing  impossible  today.' 
It  will  save  them  a  useless  journey." 

He  selected  the  requisite  flags  from  a  locker,  the 
phrase  he  needed  being  coded.  Soon  the  strong  breeze 
was  trying  to  tear  the  bunting  from  the  cordage,  and 
though  they  could  not  hear  the  three  whistles  with 
which  the  little  yacht  acknowledged  the  signal,  they 
could  easily  see  the  jets  of  steam  through  their  glasses. 

Constance  happened  to  overlook  the  table  on  which 
stood  the  auriscope. 

"This  thing  has  actually  recorded  those  whistles," 
she  cried  in  wonder. 

"What  sort  of  whistle  has  the  Lapwing?"  asked 
Brand. 

"A  loud  and  deep  one,  worthy  of  a  leviathan.  It 
was  a  fad  of  Mr.  Lawton's.  They  say  his  siren  con- 
sumes more  steam  than  his  engines." 

Her  father  laughed. 

"  Anyhow,  he  is  sticking  to  his  course,"  he  announced. 
"I  may  as  well  take  in  the  decorations." 

Undauntedly,  but  much  flurried  by  a  sea  ever  in- 
creasing in  strength  as  the  force  of  the  ebb  tide  encoun- 
tered the  resistance  of  the  wind,  the  Lapwing  held  on. 
With  wind  and  sea  against  her  she  would  have  made 

[77] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

slow  work  of  it.  As  it  was,  there  was  help  forthcoming 
for  both  journeys  unless  the  wind  went  back  to  the 
north  again  as  rapidly  as  it  had  veered  to  the  southwest. 

She  would  not  be  abreast  the  rock  for  nearly  an  hour, 
so  Brand  left  the  girls  in  charge  of  the  lookout  whilst 
he  visited  the  oil-room.  A  wild  night,  such  as  he  an- 
ticipated, demanded  full  pressure  at  the  lamp.  If  the 
air  became  super-saturated,  breakage  of  the  glass  chim- 
neys might  take  place,  and  he  must  have  a  good  stock 
on  hand.  Water  and  coal,  too,  were  needed ;  the  double 
accident  to  Bates  and  Jackson  had  thrown  into  arrears 
all  the  ordinary  duties  of  the  afternoon  watch. 

Naturally,  the  pair  in  the  lantern  found  the  progress 
of  the  yacht  exasperatingly  slow. 

"A  nice  Lapwing,"  said  Enid,  scornfully.  "I  will 
tell  Mr.  Lawton  he  ought  to  rechristen  her  the  Bantam. 
All  her  power  is  in  her  crow." 

When  Brand  joined  them  matters  became  livelier. 
More  accustomed  than  they  to  the  use  of  a  telescope, 
he  made  discoveries. 

"  The  two  supernumeraries  are  there,"  he  announced, 
"but  I  cannot  see  Lawton.  Indeed,  so  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  she  is  commanded  by  Stanhope,  dressed  in 
Ben  Pollard's  oil-skins." 

"He  has  left  Lady  Margaret!"  cried  Constance. 

"He  never  went  home!"  essayed  Enid. 

"Poor  chap!  He  was  going  to  take  us  for  a  drive 
tomorrow,"  said  Constance. 

"To  Morvah,"  explained  Enid,  with  a  syllabic  em- 
phasis meant  for  one  pair  of  ears. 

[78] 


The  Hurricane 

"  It  is  very  nice  of  him  to  struggle  on  and  have  a  look 
at  us,"  said  Brand.  "  He  can  come  close  enough  to  see 
us,  but  that  is  all.  Our  small  megaphone  will  be  use- 
less." 

Indeed,  the  Lapwing  dared  not  approach  nearer 
than  the  Trinity  mooring  buoy.  By  that  time  the  three, 
protected  from  the  biting  wind  by  oilskin  coats,  were 
standing  on  the  gallery.  The  reef  was  bellowing  up 
at  them  with  a  continuous  roar.  A  couple  of  acres  of 
its  surface  consisted  of  nothing  more  tangible  than  white 
foam  and  driving  spray. 

Stanhope,  resigning  the  wheel  to  a  sailor,  braced 
himself  firmly  against  the  little  vessel's  foremast  and 
began  to  strike  a  series  of  extraordinary  attitudes  with 
his  arms  and  head. 

"Why  is  he  behaving  in  that  idiotic  manner?" 
screamed  Enid. 

"  Capital  idea  —  semaphore  —  clever  fellow,  Jack," 
shouted  Brand. 

Abashed,  Enid  held  her  peace. 

The  lighthouse-keeper,  signalling  in  turn  that  he 
was  receiving  the  message,  spelled  out  the  following: 

"Is  all  well?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Bates  and  Jackson  reached  hospital.  Bates  com- 
pound fracture.  If  weather  moderates  will  be  with 
you  next  tide." 

"All  right,"  waved  Brand. 

The  distant  figure  started  again: 

"L-o-v-e  t-o  E-n-i-d." 

[79] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Enid  indulged  in  an  extraordinary  arm  flourish. 

"A-n-d  C-o-n-s-t-a-n-c-e." 

"That  spoils  it,"  she  screamed.  "It  ought  to  be 
only  kind  regards  to  you,  Connie.  I  believe  you  are  a 
serpent,  a  —  " 

"Do  stop  your  chatter,"  shouted  Brand,  and  he  con- 
tinued the  message : 

"Weather  looks  very  bad.  Little  hope  for  tonight. 
Lancelot  due  at  six.  Will  see  personally  that  no  chance 
is  lost.  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  was  the  response. 

The  Lapwing  fell  away  astern  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  buoy. 

"  Why  is  he  doing  that  ?  "  asked  Constance,  close  to 
her  father's  ear. 

"  He  is  too  good  a  sailor  to  risk  turning  her  in  that 
broken  water.  A  little  farther  out  there  is  greater 
depth  and  more  regular  seas. 

They  watched  the  yacht  in  silence.  At  last  her 
head  swung  round  towards  the  coast.  When  broad- 
side on,  a  wave  hit  her,  and  the  spray  leaped  over  her 
masts. 

"That  gave  them  a  wetting,"  cried  Brand,  and  his 
calm  tone  stilled  their  ready  fear.  Indeed,  there  was 
greater  danger  than  he  wanted  them  to  know.  But 
the  Lapwing  reappeared,  shaking  herself,  and  still 
turning. 

"  Good  little  boat ! "  said  Brand  The  crisis  had 
passed.  She  was  headed,  at  full  speed,  for  the  Bay. 
And  not  too  soon.  'Ere  she  reached  the  comparative 

[80] 


The  Hurricane 

shelter  of  Clement's  Island  she  was  swept  three  times 
by  green  water. 

Inside  the  lantern,  their  faces  ruddy  with  the  ex- 
posure, their  eyes  dancing  with  excitement,  the  girls 
were  voluble  with  delight.  Could  anything  be  more 
thrilling  than  their  experiences  that  day! 

"That  semaphore  dodge  is  too  precious  to  be  lost," 
cried  Enid.  "  Connie,  you  and  I  must  learn  the  al- 
phabet. You  shall  teach  us  this  very  evening,  dad. 
Fancy  me  signaling  you  the  whole  length  of  the  Prom- 
enade: 'Just  look  at  Mrs.  Wilson's  bonnet,'  or  'Here 
come  the  Taylor-Smiths.  Scoot!'  Oh,  it's  fine." 

She  whirled  her  arms  in  stiff-jointed  rigidity  and 
mimicked  Stanhope's  fantastic  posing. 

"Why  should  you  scoot  when  you  meet  the  Taylor- 
Smiths?"  asked  Brand. 

"  Because  Mrs.  T.-S.  hauls  us  off  to  tea  and  gives  us 
a  gallon  of  gossip  with  every  cup." 

"  I  thought  your  sex  regarded  gossip  as  the  cream  ?  " 

"Sex,  indeed!  Old  Smith  is  worse  than  his  wife. 
He  doesn't  say  much,  but  he  winks.  One  of  his  winks, 
at  the  end  of  a  story,  turns  an  episode  into  a  three-vol- 
ume novel." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  must  teach  you  the  code  in  my  own 
self-defence,"  he  replied.  "And  now  for  tea.  Let  us 
have  it  served  here." 

They  voted  this  an  admirable  notion.  The  girls 
enlivened  the  meal  by  relating  to  him  the  doings  and 
sayings  of  current  interest  ashore  during  the  past  two 
months.  By  a  queer  coincidence,  which  he  did  not 

[81] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

mention,  his  relief  was  again  due  within  a  week,  just  as 
on  the  occasion  of  Enid's  first  appearance  on  the  rock. 
The  fact  struck  him  as  singular.  In  all  probability  he 
would  not  return  to  duty.  He  had  completed  twenty- 
one  years  of  active  service.  Now  he  would  retire,  and 
when  the  commercial  arrangements  for  the  auriscope 
were  completed,  he  would  take  his  daughters  on  a  long- 
promised  Continental  tour,  unless,  indeed,  matters 
progressed  between  Stanhope  and  Enid  to  the  point  of 
an  early  marriage. 

He  had  foreseen  that  Stanhope  would  probably  ask 
Enid  to  be  his  wife.  He  knew  the  youngster  well,  and 
liked  him.  For  the  opposition  that  Lady  Margaret 
might  offer  he  cared  not  a  jot.  He  smiled  inwardly  — 
as  the  convenient  phrase  has  it  —  when  he  reviewed 
the  certain  outcome  of  any  dispute  between  himself 
and  her  ladyship.  He  would  surprise  her. 

Brand,  the  lighthouse-keeper,  and  Brand  urging  the 
claims  of  his  adopted  daughter,  would  be  two  very  dif- 
ferent persons. 

Of  course,  all  Penzance  knew  that  he  was  a  gentle- 
man, a  scientist  in  a  small  way,  and  a  man  of  means: 
otherwise  Constance  and  Enid  would  not  have  occu- 
pied the  position  they  held  in  local  society.  Those 
unacquainted  with  English  ways  ofttimes  make  the 
mistake  of  rating  a  man's  social  status  by  the  means  he 
possesses  or  the  manner  of  his  life  in  London.  No 
greater  error  could  be  committed.  The  small,  ex- 
clusive county  town,  the  community  which  registers 
the  family  connections  of  many  generations,  is  the  only 

[82] 


The  Hurricane 

reliable  index.  Here,  to  be  of  gentle  birth  and  breed- 
ing —  not  bad  credentials  even  in  the  court  of  King 
Demos  —  confers  Brahminical  rank,  no  matter  what 
the  personal  fortunes  of  the  individual. 

Brand,  it  is  true,  did  not  belong  to  a  Cornish  county 
family,  but  there  were  those  who  conned  him  shrewdly. 
They  regarded  him  as  a  well-meaning  crank,  yet  the 
edict  went  forth  that  his  daughters  were  to  be  "re- 
ceived," and  received  they  were,  with  pleasure  and 
admiration  by  all  save  such  startled  elderly  mammas 
as  Lady  Margaret  Stanhope,  who  expected  her  good- 
looking  son  to  contract  a  marriage  which  would  restore 
the  failing  fortunes  of  the  house. 

All  unconscious  of  the  thoughts  flitting  through  his 
brain,  for  Brand  was  busy  trimming  a  spare  lamp,  the 
two  girls  amused  themselves  by  learning  the  semaphore 
alphabet  from  a  little  hand-book  which  he  found  for 
them. 

When  the  night  fell,  dark  and  lowering,  the  lamp  was 
lighted.  They  had  never  before  seen  an  eight-wicked 
concentric  burner  in  use.  The  shore  lighthouses  with 
which  they  were  better  acquainted  were  illuminated  by 
electricity  or  on  the  catoptric  principle,  wherein  a  large 
number  of  small  Argand  lamps,  with  reflectors,  are 
grouped  together. 

To  interest  them,  to  keep  their  eyes  and  ears  away 
from  the  low-water  orgy  of  the  reef,  he  explained  to 
them  the  capillary  action  of  the  oil.  Although  they 
had  learnt  these  things  in  school  they  had  not  realized 
the  exactness  of  the  statement  that  oil  does  not  burn, 

[83] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

but  must  first  be  converted  into  gas  by  the  application 
of  heat.  On  the  Gulf  Rock  there  were  nearly  3,000 
gallons  of  colza  oil  stored  in  the  tanks  beneath,  colza 
being  used  in  preference  to  paraffin  because  it  was  safer, 
and  there  was  no  storage  accommodation  apart  from 
the  lighthouse. 

Requiring  much  greater  heat  than  mineral  oil  to 
produce  inflammable  gas,  the  colza  had  to  be  forced 
by  heavy  pressure  in  the  cistern  right  up  to  the  edge  of 
the  wicks,  and  made  to  flow  evenly  over  the  rims  of  the 
burner,  else  the  fierce  flame  would  eat  the  metal  discs 
as  well. 

He  read  them  a  little  lecture  on  the  rival  claims  of 
gas  and  electricity,  and  demonstrated  how  dazzlingly 
brilliant  the  latter  could  be  on  a  dark,  clear  night  by 
showing  them  the  fine  light  on  the  Lizard. 

"But  in  hazy  weather  the  oil  wins,"  he  said,  with  the 
proper  pride  of  every  man  in  his  own  engine.  "  Fisher- 
men sailing  into  Penzance  along  a  course  equidistant 
from  the  two  points  tell  me  that  if  they  can  see  any- 
thing at  all  on  a  foggy  night  they  invariably  catch  a 
dull  yellow  radiance  from  the  rock,  whilst  the  Lizard 
is  invisible.  The  oil  has  more  penetrative  power.  Its 
chemical  combination  is  nearer  the  mean  of  nature's 
resources." 

At  the  proper  time  he  banished  them  to  the  kitchen 
to  prepare  dinner,  a  feast  diverted  from  the  hour  of 
noon  by  the  chances  of  the  day.  He  adopted  every 
expedient  to  keep  them  busy,  to  tire  them  physically 
and  mentally,  to  render  them  so  exhausted  that  they 

[84] 


The  Hurricane 

would  sleep  in  blissful  calm  through  the  ordeal  to  come. 

As  he  could  not  leave  the  lamp,  and  they  refused  to 
eat  apart  from  him,  the  dinner,  in  three  courses,  was  a 
breathless  affair.  Going  up  and  down  five  flights  of 
stairs  with  soup,  joint  and  pudding,  whilst  one  carried 
the  tray  and  the  other  swung  a  hand  lantern  in  front, 
required  time  and  exertion.  They  were  cheerful  as 
grigs  over  it. 

Enid,  whose  turn  it  was  to  bring  up  the  plates  of 
tapioca,  pleaded  guilty  to  a  slight  sensation  of  ner- 
vousness. 

"  I  could  not  help  remembering,"  she  said,  "  what  an 
awful  lot  of  dark  iron  steps  there  were  beneath  me.  I 
felt  as  if  something  were  creeping  up  quickly  behind 
to  grab  me  by  the  ankles." 

"You  should  go  up  and  down  three  times  in  the 
dark,"  was  Brand's  recipe.  "When  you  quitted  the 
door  level  for  the  third  ascent  you  would  cease  to  worry 
about  impossible  grabs." 

Constance  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  Only  eight  o'clock !  What  a  long  day  it  has  been," 
she  commented. 

"You  must  go  to  bed  early.  Sleep  in  my  room. 
You  will  soon  forget  where  you  are;  each  of  the  bunks 
is  comfortable.  Now  I  will  leave  you  in  charge  of  the 
lamp  whilst  I  go  and  lock  up." 

They  laughed.     It  sounded  so  home-like. 

"  Any  fear  of  burglars  ?  "  cried  Enid. 

"Yes,  most  expert  cracksmen,  wind,  and  rain,  and 
—  sleet,"  he  added  quietly.  "I  must  fasten  all  the 

[85] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

storm-shutters  and  make  everything  snug.     Don't  stir 
until  I  wake  you  in  the  morning." 

"  Poor  old  dad ! "  sighed  Constance.     "  What  a  vigil ! " 

He  was  making  new  entries  in  the  weather  report 
when  she  remarked  thoughtfully: 

"  It  is  high-water  about  half  past  one,  I  think  ?  " 

He  nodded,  pretending  to  treat  the  question  as  of  no 
special  import. 

"  From  all  appearances  there  will  be  a  heavy  sea," 
she  went  on. 

"Just  an  ordinary  bad  night,"  he  said  coolly. 

"  Do  the  waves  reach  far  up  the  lighthouse  in  a  gale  ?  " 
she  persisted. 

Then  Brand  grasped  the  situation  firmly. 

"So  that  your  slumbers  may  be  peaceful,"  he  said, 
"  I  will  call  your  kind  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  Gulf 
Rock  light  has  appeared  every  night  during  the  past 
twenty-five  years,  or  since  a  date  some  four  years  before 
you  were  born,  Constance.  It  contains  4,000  tons  of 
granite  and  is  practically  monolithic,  as  if  it  were  carved 
out  of  a  quarry.  Indeed,  I  think  its  builder  went  one 
better  than  nature.  Here  are  no  cracks  or  fissures  or 
undetected  flaws.  The  lowest  course  is  bolted  to  the 
rock  with  wrought-iron  clamps.  Every  stone  is  dove- 
tailed to  its  neighbors,  and  clasped  to  them  with  iron, 
above,  below  and  at  the  sides.  If  you  understand  conic 
sections  I  could  make  clearer  the  scientific  aspect  of  the 
structure,  but  you  can  take  it  from  me  you  are  far  safer 
here  than  on  a  natural  rock  many  times  the  dimensions 
of  this  column." 

[86] 


The  Hurricane 

"That  sounds  very  satisfactory,"  murmured  Enid, 
sleepily. 

"I  am  overwhelmed,"  said  Constance,  who  grasped 
the  essential  fact  that  he  had  not  answered  her  question. 

Soon  after  nine  o'clock  he  kissed  them  good-night. 
They  promised  not  to  sit  up  talking.  As  a  guarantee 
of  good  behavior,  Enid  said  she  would  ring  the  electric 
bell  just  before  she  climbed  into  her  bunk. 

The  signal  came  soon  and  he  was  glad.  He  trusted 
to  the  fatigue,  the  fresh  air,  the  confidence  of  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  was  on  guard,  to  lull  them  into  the  security 
of  unconsciousness. 

The  behavior  of  the  mercury  puzzled  him.  In  the 
barometer  it  fell,  in  the  thermometer  it  rose.  Increas- 
ing temperature  combined  with  low  pressure  was  not  a 
healthy  weather  combination  in  January.  Looking 
back  through  the  records  of  several  years,  he  discovered 
a  similar  set  of  conditions  one  day  in  March,  1891. 
He  was  stationed  then  on  the  Northeast  coast  and  failed 
to  remember  any  remarkable  circumstance  connected 
with  the  date,  so  he  consulted  the  lighthouse  diary  for 
that  year.  Ah!  Here  was  a  possible  explanation. 
The  chief-keeper,  a  stranger  to  him,  was  something  of  a 
meteorologist. 

He  had  written:  "At  4.15  P.M.  the  barometer 
stood  at  27.16°,  and  the  thermometer  at  45.80°.  There 
was  a  heavy  sea  and  a  No.  7  gale  blowing  from  the 
S.  S.-W.  About  five  o'clock  the  wind  increased  to  a 
hurricane  and  the  sea  became  more  violent  than  I  have 
seen  it  during  five  years'  experience  of  this  station. 

[87] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Judging  solely  by  the  clouds  and  the  flight  of  birds,  I 
should  imagine  that  the  cyclonic  centre  passed  over  the 
Scilly  Isles  and  the  Land's  End." 

Then,  next  day: 

"A  steady  northeast  wind  stilled  the  sea  most  effec- 
tually. Within  twenty-four  hours  of  the  first  signs  of 
the  hurricane  the  Channel  was  practicable  for  small 
craft.  A  fisherman  reports  that  the  coast  is  strewn 
with  wreckage." 

Brand  mused  over  the  entries  for  a  while.  With  his 
night  glasses  he  peered  long  into  the  teeth  of  the  grow- 
ing storm  to  see  if  he  could  find  the  double  flash  of  the 
magnificent  light  on  the  Bishop  Rock,  one  of  the  At- 
lantic breakwaters  of  the  Scilly  Isles.  It  was  fully 
thirty-five  miles  distant,  but  it  flung  its  radiance  over 
the  waters  from  a  height  of  143  feet,  and  the  Gulf  Rock 
lamp  stood  130  feet  above  high-water  mark.  A  lands- 
man would  not  have  distinguished  even  the  nearer 
revolutions  of  the  St.  Agnes  light,  especially  in  the  prev- 
alent gloom,  and  wisps  of  spindrift  were  already 
striking  the  lantern  and  blurring  the  glass. 

Nevertheless,  he  caught  the  quick  flashes  reflected 
from  clouds  low,  but  unbroken.  As  yet,  there  was  a 
chance  of  the  incoming  tide  bringing  better  weather, 
and  he  bent  again  over  the  record  of  the  equinoctial  gale 
in  1891.  Soon  he  abandoned  this  hope.  The  growing 
thunder  of  the  reef  as  the  tide  advanced  gave  the  first 
unmistakable  warning  of  what  was  to  come.  As  a 
mere  matter  of  noise  the  reef  roared  its  loudest  at  half- 
tide.  He  understood  now  that  a  gale  had  swept  across 

[88] 


The  Hurricane 

the  Atlantic  in  an  irregular  track.  Howsoever  the 
winds  may  rage  the  tides  remain  steadfast,  and  the  great 
waves  now  rushing  up  from  the  west  were  actually  har- 
bingers of  the  fierce  blast  which  had  created  them. 

Of  course,  the  threatened  turmoil  in  no  wise  discon- 
certed him.  It  might  be  that  the  rock  would  remain 
inaccessible  during  many  days.  In  that  event  the  girls 
would  take  the  watch  after  the  lamp  was  extinguished 
and  they  must  learn  to  endure  the  monotony  and  dis- 
comforts of  existence  in  a  storm-bound  lighthouse. 
They  would  be  nervous  unquestionably  —  perhaps  he 
had  forgotten  how  nervous  —  but  Brand  was  a  philoso- 
pher, and  at  present  he  was  most  taken  up  with  won- 
derment at  the  curious  blend  of  circumstances  which 
resulted  in  their  presence  on  the  rock  that  night. 

Ha!  A  tremor  shook  the  great  pillar.  He  heard 
without  the  frenzied  shriek  of  the  first  repulsed  roller 
which  flung  itself  on  the  sleek  and  rounded  wall.  Would 
the  girls  sleep  through  the  next  few  hours  ?  Possibly, 
if  awake,  they  would  attribute  the  vibration  of  the  col- 
umn to  the  wind.  He  trusted  it  might  be  so.  Shut  in 
as  they  were,  they  could  not  distinguish  sounds.  Every- 
thing to  them  v/ould  be  a  confused  hum,  with  an  occa- 
sional shiver  as  the  granite  braced  its  mighty  heart  to 
resist  the  enemy. 

But  what  new  note  was  this  in  the  outer  chaos  ?  An 
ordinary  gale  shuddered  and  whistled  and  chanted 
its  way  past  the  lantern  in  varying  tones.  It  sang,  it 
piped,  it  bellowed,  it  played  on  giant  reeds  and  crashed 
with  cymbals,  Now  —  he  looked  at  the  clock,  after 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

midnight  —  there  was  a  sustained  screech  in  the  voice 
of  the  tempest  which  he  did  not  remember  having  heard 
before.  At  last  the  explanation  dawned  on  him.  The 
hurricane  was  there,  a  few  feet  away,  shut  off  from  him 
by  mere  sheets  of  glass.  The  lighthouse  thrust  its  tall 
shaft  into  this  merciless  tornado  with  grim  steadfastness, 
and  around  its  smooth  contours  poured  a  volume  of 
unearthly  melody  which  seemed  to  surge  up  from  the 
broad  base  and  was  flung  off  into  the  darkness  by  the 
outer  sweep  of  the  cornice. 

The  wind  was  traveling  seventy,  eighty,  mayhap  a 
hundred  miles  an  hour.  Not  during  all  his  service, 
nor  in  earlier  travels  through  distant  lands,  had  he  ever 
witnessed  a  storm  of  such  fury.  He  thought  he  heard 
something  crack  overhead.  He  looked  aloft,  but  all 
seemed  well.  Not  until  next  day  did  he  discover  that 
the  wind-vane  had  been  carried  away,  a  wrought  iron 
shank  nearly  two  inches  thick  having  snapped  like  a 
piece  of  worsted  at  the  place  where  the  tempest  had 
found  a  fault. 

He  tried  to  look  out  into  the  heart  of  the  gale.  The 
air  was  full  of  flying  foam,  but  the  sea  was  beater;  flat. 
If  the  growling  monster  beneath  tried  to  fling  a  defiant 
crest  at  the  tornado,  the  whole  mass  of  water,  many 
tons  in  weight,  was  instantly  torn  from  the  surface  and 
flung  into  nothingness.  Some  of  these  adventurers, 
forced  up  by  the  reef,  hit  the  lighthouse  with  greater 
force  than  many  a  cannon-ball  fired  in  battles  which 
have  made  history.  Time  after  time  the  splendid 
structure  winced  beneath  the  blow. 
[90] 


The  Hurricane 

If  Stephen  Brand  were  ever  fated  to  know  fear  he 
was  face  to  face  with  the  ugly  phantom  then.  The 
granite  column  would  not  yield,  but  it  was  quite  within 
the  bounds  of  possibility  that  the  entire  lantern  might 
be  carried  away,  and  he  with  it. 

He  thought,  with  a  catching  of  his  breath,  of  the  two 
girls  in  the  tiny  room  beneath.  For  one  fleeting  in- 
stant his  mortal  eyes  gazed  into  the  unseen.  But  the 
call  of  duty  restored  him.  The  excessive  draught 
affected  the  lamp.  Its  ardor  must  be  checked.  With  a 
steady  hand  he  readjusted  the  little  brass  screws.  They 
were  so  superbly  indifferent  to  all  this  pandemonium. 
Just  little  brass  screws,  doing  their  work,  and  heeding 
naught  beside.  Suddenly  there  came  to  him  the  tri- 
umphant knowledge  that  the  pure  white  beam  of  the 
light  was  hewing  its  path  through  the  savage  assailant 
without  as  calmly  and  fearlessly  as  it  lit  up  the  ocean 
wilds  on  a  midsummer  night  of  moonlight  and  soft 
zephyrs. 

"  Thank  God  for  that ! "  he  murmured  aloud.  "  How 
can  a  man  die  better  than  at  his  post  ?  " 

The  ring  of  iron  beneath  caught  his  ears.  He  turned 
from  the  lamp.  Constance  appeared,  pale,  with  shining 
eyes.  She  carried  the  lantern.  Behind  her  crept  Enid, 
who  had  been  crying ;  she  strove  now  to  check  her  tears. 

"  Is  this  sort  of  thing  normal,  or  a  special  performance 
arranged  for  our  benefit  ? "  said  his  daughter,  with  a 
fine  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"Oh,  dad,  I  am  so  frightened,"  cried  Enid.  "Why 
does  it  howl  so  ?  " 

[91] 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  MIDDLE   WATCH 

IT  says  a  good  deal  for  Stephen  Brand's  courage  that 
he  was  able  to  laugh  just  then,  but  it  is  a  fine  thing  for  a 
man,  in  a  moment  of  supremest  danger,  to  be  called  on 
to  comfort  a  weeping  woman. 

The  next  minute  might  be  their  last  —  of  that  he 
was  fully  conscious.  Even  before  the  girls  reached  his 
side  he  felt  a  curious  lifting  movement  of  the  whole 
frame  of  the  lantern.  Steel  and  glass  alike  were  yield- 
ing to  the  sustained  violence  of  the  wind-pressure. 
Well  were  they  molded,  by  men  whose  conscience  need 
harbor  no  reproach  of  dishonest  craftsmanship;  they 
were  being  tested  now  almost  beyond  endurance. 

Some  natures  would  have  found  relief  in  prayer. 
Gladly  would  Constance  and  Enid  have  sunk  on  their 
knees  and  besought  the  Master  of  the  Winds  to  spare 
them  and  those  at  sea.  But  Brand,  believing  that  a 
catastrophe  was  imminent,  decided  that  in  order  to  save 
the  girls'  lives  he  must  neither  alarm  them  nor  lose  an 
unnecessary  instant. 

To  desert  the  light  —  that  was  impossible  personally. 
If  given  the  least  warning,  he  would  spring  towards  the 

[92] 


The  Middle  Watch 

iron  rail  that  curved  by  the  side  of  the  stairs  to  the  ser- 
vice-room, and  take  his  chance.  Otherwise  he  would 
go  with  the  lamp.  There  was  no  other  alternative. 
The  girls  must  leave  him  at  once. 

The  laugh  with  which  he  greeted  their  appearance 
gave  him  time  to  scheme. 

"I  ought  to  scold  you,  but  I  won't,"  he  cried.  "Are 
you  plucky  enough  to  descend  to  the  kitchen  and  make 
three  nice  cups  of  cocoa  ?  " 

Just  think  what  it  cost  him  to  speak  in  this  bantering 
way,  careless  of  words,  though  each  additional  syllable 
might  mean  death  to  all  three. 

His  request  had  the  exact  effect  he  calculated.  For 
once,  Constance  was  deceived,  and  looked  her  surprise. 
Enid,  more  volatile,  smiled  through  her  tears.  So  it 
was  not  quite  as  bad  as  they  imagined,  this  gale.  Their 
father  could  never  be  so  matter-of-fact  in  the  face  of 
real  peril  to  all  of  them.  Cocoa!  Fancy  a  man  giving 
his  thoughts  to  cocoa  whilst  they  were  expecting  the 
lighthouse  to  be  hurled  into  the  English  Channel. 

He  turned  again  to  manipulate  the  brass  screws. 

"  Now,  do  not  stand  there  shivering,"  he  said,  "  but 
harden  your  hearts  and  go.  Use  the  oil  stove.  By 
the  time  it  is  ready  — " 

"Shivering,  indeed!" 

Constance,  of  the  Viking  breed,  would  let  him  see 
that  he  had  no  monopoly  of  the  family  motto: 
"  Audeo."  She,  too,  could  dare. 

"Down  you  go,  Enid,"  she  cried.  "He  shall  have 
his  cocoa,  poor  man." 

[93] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

He  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  caught  his  daughter 
glancing  at  him  from  the  well  of  the  stairs. 

"Bad  night,"  he  shouted  cheerfully,  and  he  cheated 
her  quick  intelligence  a  second  time. 

They  were  gone.  Perchance  it  was  his  last  sight  of 
them  in  this  life.  Three  times  the  stalwart  frame-work 
creaked.  Once  it  moved  so  perceptibly  that  the  cur- 
tain rings  jingled.  Then  he  remembered  the  words 
of  Isaiah : 

"  For  thou  bast  been  a  strength  to  the  poor,  a  strength 
to  the  needy  in  his  distress,  a  refuge  from  the  storm,  a 
shadow  from  the  heat,  when  the  blast  of  the  terrible 
ones  is  as  a  storm  against  the  wall." 

The  blast  of  the  terrible  ones!  What  a  vivid  pen- 
picture  of  the  awesome  forces  of  nature.  How  long 
would  this  tornado  continue?  Already  it  must  have 
strewed  its  path  with  havoc  at  sea  and  on  land.  His 
physical  senses  were  elevated  to  the  supernatural.  He 
seemed  to  acquire  abnormal  powers  of  sight  and  hear- 
ing. He  could  see  the  trees  bending  before  the  wrath- 
ful wind,  hear  the  crashing  tiles  and  brickwork  as 
houses  were  demolished  and  people  hurled  to  death. 
But  there  was  no  ecstasy  of  soul,  no  mental  altitude. 
In  quick  reaction  came  the  fanciful  memory  of  the  hardy 
old  salt  who  cheered  his  shipmates  during  a  terrific 
gale  with  the  trite  remark : 

"  I  pity  the  poor  folk  ashore  on  a  night  like  this." 

What  a  curious  jumble  of  emotions  jostled  in  his 
brain.  A  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous !  Not 
even  a  step.  They  were  inextricably  interwoven,  the 

[941 


The  Middle  Watch 

woof  and  the  warp  of  things.  He  recalled  the  odd  ex- 
pression of  an  officer  who  had  passed  unscathed  through 
the  Inferno  of  Spion  Kop. 

"I  had  no  sense  of  fear,"  said  he,  "but  my  teeth  be- 
gan to  ache." 

Brand,  a  student,  even  of  himself,  discovered  that 
his  dominant  sensation  was  one  of  curiosity. 

"If  it  has  to  be,"  said  his  nervous  system,  "let  it 
come  quickly."  He  felt  like  a  man  lying  on  the  oper- 
ating table  waiting  for  the  chloroform. 

Suddenly,  the  bright  flame  of  the  lamp  lessened. 
The  use  that  was  his  second  nature  caused  him  to  raise 
the  wicks  and  admit  more  draught.  Even  whilst  his 
deft  fingers  arranged  the  complex  burner,  his  ear 
caught  a  change  in  the  external  din.  The  shriek  of 
the  wind  dropped  to  a  thunderous  growl.  This  was  a 
gale,  not  a  tempest.  God  be  praised,  the  crisis  had 
passed ! 

The  hurricane  had  lasted  thirty-five  minutes.  A 
similar  tornado  sufficed  to  wreck  one-half  of  the  City 
of  St.  Louis.  This  one,  as  he  learnt  afterwards,  swept 
around  the  south  of  Ireland,  created  a  tidal  wave  which 
did  great  damage  to  the  Scilly  Isles  and  the  headlands 
of  the  south  coast,  yet  spent  itself  somewhere  in  the 
North  Sea.  Dwellers  in  inland  cities  were  amazed 
and  incredulous  when  the  newspapers  spoke  of  its  ex- 
traordinary violence.  A  truth  is  harder  to  swallow 
than  a  lie,  all  the  time. 

Up  clattered  Enid  with  the  steaming  beverage;  Con- 
stance, the  lantern-bearer,  providing  the  rear-guard. 

[95] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"I  do  believe  it  is  blowing  worse  than  ever,"  said 
Enid,  striving  desperately  to  be  unconcerned.  In 
reality,  the  angry  wind  was  no  longer  able  to  behead 
the  waves.  With  a  rising  tide  and  the  gale  assisting 
there  would  soon  be  a  sea  worthy  of  Turner  in  his  mad- 
dest mood. 

"Good  gracious,  dad,"  cried  Constance,  "how  pale 
you  are.  And  your  forehead  is  wet.  What  have  you 
been  doing  ?  " 

Brand  hastily  mopped  his  face  with  a  handkerchief. 

"During  some  of  the  heavy  gusts,"  he  explained, 
"I  was  compelled  to  stand  on  the  trimming  stage. 
And  —  the  micrometer  valve  required  adjustment." 

She  eyed  him  narrowly.  The  margin  of  suspicion 
was  wider. 

"  There  is  nothing  else  wrong  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  approached  and  kissed  her  ear. 

"  Since  when  did  my  little  girl  begin  to  doubt  me  ?  " 
he  said  quietly. 

Her  eyes  filled.  Even  the  hint  of  a  reproach  from 
him  was  intolerable.  For  the  life  of  her  she  could  no 
longer  control  the  flood  of  terror  which  welled  up  be- 
yond restraint. 

"  Forgive  me,  dad,"  she  murmured,  "  but  I  thought, 
and  I  still  think,  that  we  were  and  are  in  a  position  of 
the  utmost  peril.  I  can't  help  knowing  that  it  is  high- 
water  about  two  o'clock.  It  is  now  only  a  quarter  to 
one.  The  worst  is  not  over.  Do  you  think  I  cannot 
read  your  dear  face!  Dad!  if  there  is  danger,  don't 
send  us  away  again." 

[96] 


The  Middle  Watch 

Tears  were  streaming  down  her  white  cheeks.  Enid, 
holding  the  tray  in  speechless  bewilderment  during 
this  outburst  from  her  proud  and  self-reliant  sister, 
set  it  down  on  the  writing-desk  with  a  crash. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  wailed,  "  I  don't  want  any  cocoa  if 
we're  gug-gug-going  to  be  drowned." 

Certainly  if  Stephen  Brand  had  imagined,  two  min- 
utes earlier,  that  he  was  about  to  laugh  long  and  loudly, 
in  a  genuine  surrender  to  an  uncontrollable  spasm  of 
mirth,  he  would  have  feared  lest  his  wits  were  leaving 
him.  Yet  he  laughed  now  until  his  vision  was  blurred. 
And  the  wonderful  relief  of  it !  What  a  tonic,  after  the 
ordeal  he  had  endured! 

It  chanced,  just  then,  that  an  emancipated  wave 
embraced  the  granite  column,  hit  the  cornice,  and  del- 
uged the  lantern,  its  disintegrated  mass  striking  the 
glass  with  force  enough  to  break  any  ordinary  window. 
The  astounded  girls  could  not  refuse  the  evidence  of 
eyes  and  ears.  Here  was  the  frantic  sea  leaping  to  a 
height  of  one  hundred  and  forty  feet  and  more,  yet 
their  father  was  treating  the  incident  as  the  merriest 
joke  of  many  a  month. 

No  better  cure  for  their  hysteria  could  be  contrived. 
Brand  was  obviously  not  acting.  The  hearty  pulsa- 
tions of  laughter  had  restored  his  ruddy  color.  Evi- 
dently they  were  alarmed  about  nothing. 

"Here,  Enid,  drink  your  parting  cup,"  he  cried  at 
last.  "Have  no  fear.  It  is  only  the  dochan  doris  be- 
fore many  another  feast." 

Feeling  somewhat  ashamed  of  themselves,  though 
[97] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

smiling  very  wistfully,  they  obeyed  him.  He  sipped 
his  cocoa  with  real  nonchalance.  Another  wave  turned 
a  somersault  over  the  lantern.  Brand's  only  anxiety 
was  to  blow  at  the  steaming  liquid  and  cool  it  suffi- 
ciently. 

Yet  was  he  watching  them  and  hammering  out  the 
right  course  to  adopt.  He  alone  understood  that,  to 
the  novice,  the  amazing  ordeal  from  which  the  light- 
house had  successfully  emerged  was  as  naught  com- 
pared with  the  thunderous  blows  of  the  waves,  the 
astounding  reverberations  of  the  hollow  pillar,  the  con- 
tinuous deluge  of  spray  striking  the  lantern,  which  the 
infuriated  sea  would  inflict  on  them. 

To  urge  any  further  effort  to  sleep  was  folly.  They 
must  remain  with  him  and  be  comforted. 

Being  reasonable  girls,  of  fine  spirit  under  conditions 
less  benumbing,  it  was  better  that  they  should  grasp 
the  facts  accurately.  They  would  be  timid,  of  course, 
just  as  people  are  timid  during  their  first  attempt  to 
walk  'twixt  rock  and  cataract  at  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
but  they  would  have  confidence  in  their  guide  and  en- 
dure the  surrounding  pandemonium. 

"  Here's  to  you,  Enid.  Still  we  live,"  he  cried,  and 
drained  his  cup. 

"I  sup-pup-pose  so,"  she  stammered. 

"  Better  sup  up  your  cocoa,"  said  Constance.  "  Now 
I  am  quits  with  you  for  this  afternoon." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  went  on  Brand,  confidentially. 
"In  that  locker  you  will  find  a  couple  of  stout  pilot- 
coats.  Put  them  on.  As  I  cannot  persuade  you  to 

[98] 


The  Middle  Watch 

leave  me  you  must  sit  down,  and  it  is  cold  in  here. 
Moreover,  for  the  first  time  in  twenty-one  years  I  will 
smoke  on  duty.  I  have  earned  a  little  relaxation  of 
the  law." 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw  that  Constance, 
if  not  Enid,  had  not  missed  the  subtle  hint  in  his  words. 
But  she  was  quite  normal  again.  She  gave  no  sign; 
helped  her  sister  into  the  heavy  reefer,  and  made  her- 
self comfortable  in  turn. 

"  Neither  of  you  will  ever  regret  tonight's  experience 
—  when  it  is  nicely  over,"  he  said.  "You  are  like  a 
couple  of  recruits  in  their  first  battle." 

"  I  am  sure  — "  began  Enid. 

A  huge  wave,  containing  several  hundred  tons  of 
water,  smote  the  lighthouse,  and  cavorted  over  their 
heads.  The  house  that  was  founded  upon  a  rock  fell 
not,  but  it  shook  through  all  its  iron-bound  tiers,  and 
the  empty  cups  danced  on  their  saucers. 

Not  another  word  could  Enid  utter.  She  was  para- 
lyzed. 

"  That  fellow  —  arrived  —  in  the  nick  of  time  —  to 
emphasize  my  remarks,"  said  Brand,  lighting  his  pipe. 
"  This  is  your  baptism  of  fire,  if  I  may  strain  a  meta- 
phor. But  you  are  far  better  situated  than  the  soldier. 
He  gets  scared  out  of  his  wits  by  big  guns  which  are 
comparatively  harmless,  and  when  he  has  been  well 
pounded  for  an  hour  or  so,  he  advances  quite  blithely 
to  meet  the  almost  silent  hail  of  dangerous  bullets. 
So,  you  see,  in  his  case,  ignorance  is  bliss." 

"  Are  we  in  bliss  ?  "  demanded  Constance. 
[99] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"You  have  been.  The  lighthouse  has  out-faced  a 
hurricane  such  as  has  not  visited  England  before  in 
my  life-time.  It  is  over.  The  wind  has  dropped  to  a 
No.  10  gale,  and  we  have  not  lost  even  a  bit  of  skin  to 
my  knowledge.  Now  the  cannonade  is  beginning. 
Certainly,  we  may  have  the  glass  broken,  by  a  rare  ac- 
cident, but  no  worse  fate  can  befall  us." 

A  heavy  thud  was  followed  by  a  deluge  without. 
They  heard  the  water  pouring  off  the  gallery. 

Constance  leaned  forward,  with  hands  on  knees. 
Her  large  eyes  looked  into  his. 

"  This  time,  dad,  you  are  not  choosing  your  words," 
she  said. 

"I  am  sorry  you  should  think  that,"  was  the  reply. 
"I  selected  each  phrase  with  singular  care.  Never  be 
misled  by  the  apparent  ease  of  a  speaker.  The  best 
impromptu  is  prepared  beforehand." 

"You  dear  old  humbug,"  she  cried. 

Now  the  quiet  deadlmess  of  the  scene  which  followed 
the  reappearance  of  Enid  and  herself  from  their  bed- 
room was  manifest  to  her.  Enid,  too,  was  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  in  eager  striving  to  grasp  the  es- 
sentials of  an  episode  rapidly  grouping  its  details  into 
sequence.  Brand  knew  that  if  he  parried  his  daugh- 
ters' questioning  they  would  be  on  their  knees  by  his 
side  forthwith,  and  he  wished  to  avoid  any  further  ex- 
citement. 

"Please  attend,  both  of  you,"  he  growled,  with  mock 
severity.  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  will 
console  you." 

[100] 


The  Middle  Watch 

His  voice  was  drowned  by  some  part  of  the  Atlantic 
whirling  over  the  lantern. 

"  This  kind  of  thing  does  not  go  on  all  the  time,"  he 
continued.  "  Otherwise  we  should  have  five  hours  of 
spasmodic  conversation.  As  soon  as  the  tide  rises  suf- 
ficiently to  gain  an  uninterrupted  run  across  the  reef  we 
will  have  at  least  two  hours  of  comparative  quiet.  About 
four  o'clock  there  will  be  a  second  edition  for  an  hour 
or  so.  I  suppose  that  any  suggestion  of  bed  —  " 

"  Will  be  scouted,"  exclaimed  Enid. 

"  A  nice  pair  of  beauties  you  will  be  in  the  morning," 
he  grumbled  artfully. 

Not  even  Constance  was  proof  against  this  new  bur- 
then of  woe.  She  glanced  around. 

"  You  say  that,"  she  cried,  "  knowing  that  the  nearest 
looking-glass  is  yards  away." 

He  pointed  with  his  pipe. 

"In  the  second  drawer  of  the  desk  you  will  find  a 
heliograph.  It  is  only  a  toy,  but  will  justify  me." 

They  ran  together,  and  found  the  little  circular  mir- 
ror. The  next  wave  passed  unheeded.  Smiling,  he 
went  up  to  the  lamp.  Even  yet  there  was  hope  they 
might  go  to  bed  when  the  respite  came. 

After  much  talk  of  disordered  hair,  wan  cheeks,  rings 
round  the  eyes,  cracked  lips,  and  other  outrageous  de- 
fects which  a  pretty  woman  mourns  when  divorced 
from  her  dressing-table,  Constance  called  him. 

"  Here  is  a  queer  thing,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  heard 
any  steamer  hooting  ?  " 

"No,"  he  answered.  Bending  between  the  two  of 
[101] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

them  he  saw  that  the  pointer  of  the  auriscope  bore  due 
southwest,  though  the  last  siren  of  which  they  had  any 
knowledge  sounded  from  the  opposite  direction. 

He  picked  up  a  little  trumpet  resembling  the  horn 
of  a  motor-car. 

"  1  use  this  for  tests,"  he  explained.  Its  tiny  vibrator 
quickly  brought  the  needle  round  towards  his  hand. 

"It  is  improbable  in  the  highest  degree  that  any 
steamer  is  near  enough  to  affect  the  auriscope,"  he  said. 
"  On  a  night  like  this  they  give  the  coast  a  wide  berth." 

He  quitted  them  again.  The  girls,  having  nothing 
better  to  do,  watched  the  dial  to  see  if  any  change  oc- 
curred. He  heard  them  use  the  small  trumpet  three 
times.  Then  Enid  sang  out: 

"  Oh,  do  come,  dad.  It  goes  back  to  the  southwest 
regularly." 

He  joined  in  the  watch.  The  needle  was  pointing 
north  in  obedience  to  the  sound-waves  created  in  the 
room.  Suddenly,  it  swung  round  nearly  half  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  dial. 

"Hush!"  he  said.  They  listened  intently,  but  the 
roar  of  wind  and  water  was  too  deafening.  They 
could  hear  naught  else.  He  went  to  the  southwest 
point  of  the  glass  dome,  but  the  lantern  was  so  blurred 
with  rivulets  of  water  that  he  could  see  nothing  save  a 
tawny  vastness  where  the  light  fell  on  the  flying  spin- 
drift. 

To  make  sure,  he  tested  the  auriscope  again,  and 
with  the  same  result. 

"A  vessel  is  approaching  from  the  southwest,"  he 
[102] 


The  Middle  Watch 

announced,  gravely.  "Evidently  she  is  whistling  for 
help.  I  hope  she  will  not  attempt  to  approach  too  near 
the  reef.  I  must  have  a  look  out." 

He  put  on  an  oilskin  coat  and  tied  the  strings  of  a 
sou'wester  firmly  beneath  his  chin. 

The  small  door  of  the  lantern  opened  towards  the 
Bay,  so  he  had  no  difficulty  in  gaining  the  gallery.  The 
girls  watched  him  forcing  his  way  against  the  wind  un- 
til he  was  facing  it  and  gazing  in  the  direction  of  the 
Scilly  Isles. 

"Perhaps  some  poor  ship  is  in  danger,  Connie," 
whispered  Enid.  "It  makes  me  feel  quite  selfish. 
Here  was  I,  thinking  of  nothing  but  my  own  peril, 
yet  that  little  machine  there  was  faithfully  doing  its 
duty." 

"  It  was  not  alone  in  its  self-abandonment.  We  shall 
never  know,  dearest,  how  much  father  suffered  when 
he  sent  us  off  with  a  jest  on  his  lips.  I  am  sure  he 
thought  the  lantern  would  be  blown  away." 

"  And  he  with  it !     Oh,  Connie ! " 

"Yes.  He  believed,  if  that  awful  thing  took  place 
whilst  we  were  below,  we  might  escape.  I  can  see  it 
all  now.  I  had  the  vaguest  sort  of  suspicion,  but  he 
hoodwinked  me." 

"  Had  we  known  we  would  not  have  left  him,"  cried 
Enid,  passionately. 

"  Yes,  we  would.  Think  of  him,  sticking  to  his  post. 
Was  it  for  us  to  disobey  ?  " 

Overcome  by  their  feelings,  they  stood  in  silence  for  a 
little  while.  Through  the  thick  glass  they  could  dimly 
[103] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

distinguish  Brand's  figure.     A  great  wave  assailed  the 
lantern  and  Enid  screamed  loudly. 

"Don't,  dear!"  cred  Constance,  shrilly.  "Father 
would  not  remain  there  if  it  were  dangerous." 

Nevertheless,  they  both  breathed  more  freely  when 
they  saw  him  again,  an  indeterminate  shape  against 
the  luminous  gloom. 

Constance  felt  that  she  must  speak.  The  sound  of 
her  own  voice  begat  confidence. 

"  I  have  never  really  understood  dad  until  tonight," 
she  said.  "  What  an  ennobling  thing  is  a  sense  of  duty. 
He  would  have  died  here  quite  calmly,  Enid,  yet  he 
would  avoid  the  least  risk  out  there.  That  would  be 
endangering  his  trust.  Oh,  I  am  glad  we  are  here.  I 
have  never  lived  before  this  hour." 

Enid  stole  a  wondering  glance  at  her  sister.  The 
girl  seemed  to  be  gazing  into  depths  immeasurable. 
Afterwards  the  words  came  back  to  her  mind :  "  That 
would  be  endangering  his  trust." 

Brand  faced  the  gale  a  full  five  minutes.  He  re- 
turned hastily. 

"  There  is  a  big  steamer  heading  this  way  —  a  liner, 
I  fancy,"  he  gasped,  half  choked  with  spray.  "  I  fear 
she  is  disabled.  She  is  firing  rockets,  and  I  suppose 
her  siren  is  going  constantly,  though  I  cannot  hear  it." 

He  ran  to  the  room  beneath.  Flushed  with  this  new 
excitement,  the  girls  donned  their  oilskin  coats  and 
arranged  their  sou'westers.  When  he  hurried  up  the 
stairs  he  was  carrying  four  rockets.  He  noted  their 
preparations. 

[104] 


Toe  Middle  Watch 

"  Don't  come  out  until  I  have  fired  the  alarm  signal," 
he  shouted,  "and  tie  your  dresses  tightly  around  your 
knees." 

They  heard  the  loud  hissing  of  the  rockets,  and  the 
four  reports  traveled  dully  from  the  sky.  Three  white 
star-bursts  and  one  red  told  the  Land's  End  coast- 
guards that  a  ship  in  need  of  help  was  near  the  Gulf 
Rock.  Probably  they  had  already  seen  the  vessel's 
signals.  In  any  event,  they  would  not  miss  the  display 
from  the  lighthouse. 

Walking  with  difficulty,  the  girls  crept  out  on  to  the 
balcony. 

Brand  had  already  gone  to  the  windward  side.  The 
first  rush  of  the  gale  made  them  breathless,  yet  they 
persevered  and  reached  him.  They  were  greeted  by  a 
climber,  but  their  father,  with  a  hand  on  their  shoulders, 
pressed  them  down,  and  the  spray  crashed  against  the 
lantern  behind  them.  He  knew  they  would  take  no 
harm.  When  the  vessel  passed,  their  boots  and  stock- 
ings would  be  soaked.  Then  he  could  insist  that  they 
should  go  to  bed. 

At  first  they  distinguished  nothing  save  a  chaotic 
blend  of  white  and  yellow  foam,  driving  over  the  reef 
at  an  apparently  incredible  speed.  Overhead,  the 
black  pall  of  the  sky  seemed  to  touch  the  top  of  the 
lantern.  Around,  in  a  vast  circle  carved  out  of  the 
murky  wilderness,  the  wondrous  beam  of  the  light 
fought  and  conquered  its  unwearied  foes.  Constance 
caught  the  three  quick  flashes  of  the  Seven  Stones  light- 
ship away  to  the  right.  She  fancied  she  saw  a  twink- 
[105] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

ling  ahead,  but  this  was  the  St.  Agnes  light,  and  neither 
girl  could  make  out  other  sight  or  sound  until  Brand 
pointed  steadily  towards  one  spot  in  the  darkness. 

Before  they  could  follow  his  indication  they  were 
compelled  to  duck  to  avoid  another  wave.  Then,  as 
if  it  had  just  popped  up  out  of  the  sea,  they  divined  a 
tiny  white  spark  swinging  slowly  across  a  considerable 
area.  It  was  by  that  means  that  Brand  had  estimated 
the  size  and  nearness  of  the  steamer,  and  soon  they 
glimpsed  the  red  and  green  side-lights,  though  ever 
and  anon  these  were  hidden  by  the  torrents  of  water 
sweeping  over  her  decks.  Of  the  vessel  they  could  see 
nothing  whatever. 

Steadily  she  rolled  along  her  fearful  path.  Having 
once  found  her,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  estimating 
the  rapidity  of  her  approach.  Enid,  whose  eyes  were 
strong  and  far-sighted,  fancied  she  caught  a  fitful  vision 
of  a  big,  black  hull  laboring  in  the  yellow  waves. 

Though  it  was  difficult  to  speak,  she  crept  close  to 
Brand  and  screamed: 

"Is  she  drifting  onto  the  reef?" 

"  I  fear  so,"  he  answered. 

"  Then  she  will  be  lost !" 

"  Yes.     Unless  they  manage  to  pass  to  s'uth'ard." 

Luckily  for  poor  human  nature,  mental  stress  and 
physical  effort  rarely  unite  forces.  The  mere  attempt 
to  resist  the  wind,  the  constant  watchfulness  needed  to 
avoid  the  ambitious  seas,  though  these,  strange  to  say, 
appeared  to  be  diminishing  in  size  and  volume  as  the  tide 
rose,  served  to  dull  the  horror  of  the  threatened  tragedy. 
[106] 


The  Middle  Watch 

Brand  quitted  them  for  an  instant  to  glue  his  eyes 
to  the  lantern,  after  wiping  a  space  on  the  glass:  he 
must  see  if  the  lamp  needed  tending.  Satisfied  by  the 
scrutiny,  he  stood  behind  the  girls,  who  had  shrunk 
closely  together  the  moment  he  retired. 

"  They  are  trying  hard  to  steer  clear  of  the  reef,"  he 
shouted.  "Twice  they  have  got  her  head  round,  but 
the  sea  is  too  strong  for  them.  I  am  afraid  she  is 
doomed." 

Now,  they  unquestionably  saw  the  great  body  of  the 
ship.  Her  funnels  showed  most  clearly,  making 
sharply  defined  black  daubs  on  the  heaving  desert  of 
froth.  The  plunging  whirls  of  the  masthead  light  were 
enough  to  prove  how  the  unfortunate  vessel  was  labor- 
ing in  what  might  prove  to  be  her  final  agony. 

And  the  pity  of  it!  The  wind  was  dropping.  In 
another  hour  the  weather  might  moderate  appreciably, 
the  tide  would  sweep  her  away  from  the  horrible  reef, 
and  help  would  be  forthcoming.  Indeed,  even  then,  a 
powerful  steam  trawler  was  preparing  to  fight  her  way 
out  of  Penzance  harbor,  with  brave  men  on  board 
ready  to  take  any  risk  to  save  a  ship  in  distress. 

But  the  hour  was  grudged  by  fate.  They  could 
plainly  hear  the  hoarse  blasts  of  the  steamer's  foghorn, 
and  again  a  rocket  spurted  its  path  to  the  clouds.  She 
was  barely  a  mile  away,  and,  if  anything,  in  a  worse 
position  than  before,  as  the  wind  remained  fixed  in  the 
southwest,  and  the  tide,  at  this  stage,  curved  in  towards 
the  land  ere  it  began  to  flow  back  again  to  the  Atlantic. 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  ?  "  screamed  Constance,  ren- 
[107] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

dered  half  frantic  by  the  thought  that  the  steamer 
would  go  to  pieces  before  their  eyes. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  answer.  "Pray  for  them. 
They  are  in  the  hands  of  God." 

In  gruesome  distinctness  they  watched  the  vessel's 
approach.  The  siren  ceased.  Had  those  on  board 
abandoned  hope?  Pitching  and  rolling  in  a  manner 
that  suggested  the  possibility  of  foundering  in  deep 
water,  she  came  on  with  fatal  directness.  Suddenly,  a 
dreadful  thought  came  to  Brand's  mind.  The  light- 
house stood  on  the  easterly  and  most  elevated  portion 
of  the  reef,  whose  bearings  ran  southwest  by  west  and 
north-northwest.  At  low-water,  some  two  acres  of 
jagged  rocks  were  exposed.  On  all  sides  the  soundings 
fell  to  sixteen  and  eighteen  fathoms.  What  if  this  help- 
less leviathan,  of  ten  thousand  tons  or  more  dead 
weight,  were  to  strike  the  pillar  ?  This  was  quite  pos- 
sible with  the  tide  at  its  present  level.  It  all  depended 
whether  her  bows  were  raised  or  lowered  at  the  moment 
of  impact.  In  the  one  case  she  would  smash  away 
many  feet  of  rock,  and  perhaps  damage  the  foundations 
of  the  lighthouse:  in  the  other,  her  sharp  prow  would 
stab  into  the  vitals  of  the  granite,  and  the  huge  column 
might  collapse  in  common  ruin  with  its  colossal  assail- 
ant. 

One  of  the  girls,  he  never  remembered  which  of  them, 
spoke  to  him.  He  could  not  answer.  For  a  second 
time  that  night  he  knew  what  fear  meant.  He  watched 
the  onward  plunging  of  the  vessel  with  stupefied  eyes. 
He  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  that  her  officers  and  crew  were 
[108] 


The  Middle  Watch 

still  making  desperate  efforts  to  weather  the  reef.  But, 
with  the  utter  malignity  of  fate,  though  they  might  have 
swung  her  to  port,  she  would  not  budge  a  yard  to  star- 
board, for  now  both  wind  and  waves  assailed  her  most 
vehemently  on  the  starboard  quarter. 

Then  when  she  was  little  more  than  twice  her  own 
length  distant,  he  was  certain  that  a  dim  form  on  the 
bridge  signaled  to  the  chart -house.  With  a  miraculous 
deftness,  on  the  assumption  that  her  wheel  was  put 
hard  over,  she  fell  away  from  the  racing  seas.  Her 
red  light  disappeared;  her  green  light  curved  into  full 
view.  The  next  wave  lifted  her  bodily,  with  a  mad  joy 
that  it  should  be  able  to  use  her  to  batter  its  enemy,  the 
rock. 

Then  she  struck,  with  a  sickening  crash  that  was 
plainly  audible  above  the  roar  of  the  reef.  This  was 
not  enough.  Another  rush  of  foaming  water  enveloped 
her  and  smashed  her  again  on  an  inner  ledge.  There 
she  lodged,  falling  inertly  over  to  starboard. 

And  Brand  found  his  voice  once  more,  for,  as  sure  as 
this  terrible  night  would  have  its  end,  so  surely  had  the 
gallant  captain  of  the  steamer  refused  to  imperil  the 
lighthouse  when  all  hope  of  saving  his  ship  had 
vanished. 

The  tears  were  in  Brand's  eyes.  His  arms  encircled 
the  two  girls. 

"There  goes  a  fine  ship,  commanded  by  a  brave 
man,"  he  cried. 

And  that  was  the  beginning  of  the  captain's  requiem. 

[109] 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE   LOTTERY 

JUST  as  the  spin  of  a  coin  may  mean  loss  or  gain  in 
some  trumpery  dispute  or  game  of  the  hour,  in  like 
manner,  apparently,  are  the  graver  issues  of  life  or 
death  determined  at  times.  It  is  not  so,  we  know. 
Behind  the  triviality  on  which  men  fasten  with  amaze- 
ment as  the  governing  factor  in  events  there  lies  an 
inscrutable  purpose.  Yet,  to  those  watching  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  splendid  vessel,  there  was  little  evidence  of 
other  than  a  blind  fury  in  the  fashion  of  her  undoing. 

The  hoarse  words  had  scarce  left  Brand's  lips  before 
a  third  wave,  higher  and  more  truculent  than  its  prede- 
cessors, sprang  right  over  the  lost  ship  and  smothered 
her  in  an  avalanche  of  water.  No  doubt  this  monster 
swept  away  some  of  the  officers  and  crew.  It  was  im- 
possible to  be  certain  of  aught  save  the  one  thing  — 
that  the  steamer  would  surely  break  up  before  their 
eyes.  The  wind,  now  blowing  in  fierce  gusts,  the  sea, 
rising  each  minute,  the  clouds  of  spray  chasing  each 
other  in  eerie  flights  through  space,  the  grinding,  inces- 
sant, utterly  overwhelming  noise  of  the  reef,  made  all 
sights  and  sounds  indefinite,  nebulous,  almost  fantastic. 


The  Lottery 

But  when  the  giant  billow  receded,  leaving  the  ship 
like  a  dark  rock  in  the  midst  of  innumerable  cascades, 
the  catastrophe  took  place  which  Brand  would  have 
foreseen  were  his  thoughts  less  tumultuous.  With  the 
support  of  the  sea  withdrawn  from  half  its  length  the 
huge  hull  must  either  slip  back  into  deep  water  or 
break  in  two.  The  slender  steel  shell  of  an  ocean  liner 
is  not  constructed  to  resist  the  law  of  gravity  acting  on 
full  five  thousand  tons.  So  the  solid-looking  colossus 
cracked  like  a  carrot,  and  the  after  part  fell  back  into 
the  watery  chasm,  there  to  be  swallowed  instantly, 
amidst  a  turmoil  which  happily  drowned  the  despairing 
shrieks  of  far  more  than  half  of  those  on  board. 

Constance  and  Enid  screamed  bitterly  in  their  woe, 
but  again  they  were  saved  from  utter  collapse  by  the 
exigencies  of  the  moment.  Brand,  who  expected  to 
see  the  remainder  of  the  ship  blown  up  by  the  inrushing 
of  the  sea  to  the  furnaces,  dragged  them  forcibly  below 
the  level  of  the  protecting  balustrade. 

Yet  nothing  of  the  sort  took  place.  A  vast  cloud  of 
steam  rushed  upwards,  but  it  was  dissipated  by  the 
next  breath  of  the  gale.  This  incident  told  the  light- 
house-keeper much.  The  vessel  had  been  disabled  so 
long  that  her  skilful  commander,  finding  the  motive 
power  of  no  further  avail,  and  certain  that  his  ship  must 
be  driven  ashore,  had  ordered  the  fires  to  be  drawn  and 
the  steam  to  be  exhausted  from  all  boilers  except  one. 
Therefore,  her  shaft  was  broken,  reasoned  Brand. 
Probably  the  accident  had  occurred  during  the  height 
of  the  hurricane,  and  her  steering  gear,  of  little  use  with- 
[111] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

out  the  driving  force  of  the  engines  to  help,  might  have 
been  disabled  at  the  same  time. 

When  the  horror-stricken  watchers  looked  again  at 
the  wreck  the  forward  part  had  shifted  its  position.  It 
was  now  lying  broadside  on  to  the  seas,  and  the  lofty 
foremast  thrust  its  truck  to  within  a  few  feet  of  them. 

They  were  spared  one  ghastly  scene  which  must 
surely  have  bereft  the  girls  of  their  senses.  The  ma- 
jority of  the  first-class  passengers  had  gathered  in  the 
saloon.  Some  clung  like  limpets  to  the  main  gangway. 
A  number,  mostly  men,  crowded  together  in  the  draw- 
ing-room on  the  promenade  deck.  Farther  than  this 
they  could  not  go,  as  the  companion  hatchways  had 
been  locked  by  the  officer  of  the  watch,  the  decks  being 
quite  impassable. 

When  the  hull  yielded,  the  spacious  saloon  was  ex- 
posed to  the  vicious  waves.  Finding  this  new  cavern 
opened  to  them,  great  liquid  tongues  sprang  into  the 
darkness  and  licked  out  hapless  victims  by  the  score. 
Of  this  appalling  incident  those  in  the  lighthouse  knew 
nothing  until  long  afterwards. 

When  the  ship  struck,  the  electric  dynamos  stopped 
and  all  her  lights  went  out.  The  lighthouse  lamp, 
owing  to  its  rays  being  concentrated  by  the  dioptric 
lens,  helped  not  at  all  to  dissipate  the  dim  and  ghastly 
vision  beneath,  but  the  great  frame  of  the  fore  part  of 
the  vessel  served  as  a  break-water  to  some  extent,  and 
temporarily  withheld  the  waves  from  beating  against 
the  column. 

Hence  Brand,  straining  his  eyes  through  the  flying 
[112]  ' 


The  Lottery 

ruck,  fancied  he  could  make  out  the  figure  of  the  cap- 
tain as  he  left  the  bridge,  and,  with  some  of  the  crew, 
took  shelter  behind  the  structure  of  the  library  and 
state  cabins  on  what  remained  of  the  promenade  deck. 
At  the  same  moment  the  frenzied  occupants  of  the 
library  and  gangway  contrived  to  burst  open  the  door 
of  the  main  companion. 

If  they  had  to  die  they  might  as  well  die  in  the  open 
and  not  boxed  up  in  impenetrable  darkness.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  bolts  were  forced  by  a  man  who  fired 
his  revolver  at  them.  The  sea  quickly  discovered  this 
new  outlet.  The  next  wave,  passing  through  the  sa- 
loon, sent  tons  of  water  pouring  through  the  open  hatch, 
One  good  result  accrued.  The  strong  canvas  awning 
which  prolonged  the  spar  deck  was  carried  away,  and 
the  group  of  survivors,  benumbed  with  cold  and  wholly 
overcome  by  their  desperate  position,  could  see  the  en- 
tire height  of  the  granite  column  in  front  crowned  with 
its  diadem  of  brilliance.  The  liberated  passengers  saw 
it  for  the  first  time. 

The  sight  brought  no  hope.  Between  ship  and  light- 
house was  a  true  maelstrom  of  more  than  sixty  feet  of 
water,  created  by  the  back-wash  from  the  stone-work 
and  the  shattered  hull.  Even  if  the  passage  could  be 
made  of  what  avail  was  it?  The  iron  entrance  door 
was  full  fifty  feet  above  the  present  level  of  the  sea.  It 
could  only  be  approached  by  way  of  the  rungs  of  iron 
embedded  in  the  granite,  and  every  wave,  even  in  the 
comparative  moderation  caused  by  the  obstructing 
wreck,  swept  at  least  twenty  feet  of  the  smooth  stone 
[113] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

tiers.  It  is  this  very  fact  that  prevents  rock  lighthouses 
from  seldom  if  ever  serving  as  refuges  for  ship-wrecked 
sailors.  The  ascending  ladder  is  so  exposed,  the  sea 
usually  so  turbulent  under  the  least  stress  of  wind,  that 
no  human  being  can  retain  hand-hold  or  footing. 

Yet,  there  was  one  faint  chance  of  succor,  and  it  was 
not  a  sailor  who  grasped  it.  The  first  that  Brand  knew 
of  the  desperate  venture  was  the  sight  of  a  spectral  man 
climbing  up  the  shrouds-of  the  fore-mast.  On  a  steamer, 
whose  yards  are  seldom  used  for  sails,  the  practicable 
rope-ladder  ceases  at  the  fore,  main,  or  mizzen-top,  as 
the  case  may  be.  Thenceforward,  a  sailor  must  climb 
with  hands  and  feet  to  the  truck,  a  feat  which  may  oc- 
casionally be  necessary  when  the  vessel  is  in  dock;  it  is 
hardly  ever  attempted  at  sea. 

The  venturesome  individual  who  thus  suddenly  made 
himself  the  center  of  observation  carried  a  line  with  him. 
Not  until  he  essayed  the  second  portion  of  his  perilous 
ascent  did  Brand  realize  what  the  other  intended  to  do, 
which  was  nothing  less  than  to  reach  the  truck,  the  very 
top  of  the  mast,  and  endeavor  to  throw  a  rope  to  the 
gallery. 

And  he  might  succeed,  too  —  that  was  the  marvel  of 
it.  The  tapering  spar  came  very  near  to  them,  perhaps 
twelve  feet  distant,  and  the  wind  would  certainly  carry 
the  rope  across  the  chasm  if  carefully  thrown.  A  few 
strong  and  active  men  might  use  this  aerial  ferry.  Well, 
better  they  than  none.  Brave  fellow ;  would  that  the 
Lord  might  help  him ! 

Higher  and  nearer  swung  the  stalwart  youngster,  for 
[114] 


The  Lottery 

none  but  a  lithe  and  active  boy  could  climb  a  pole  with 
such  easy  vigor.  At  last  he  reached  the  truck,  and  a 
faintly  heard  cheer  from  beneath  mingled  with  the  hys- 
terical delight  of  Enid  and  Constance,  when,  with  legs 
twined  round  the  mast,  he  rested  his  arms  for  an  instant 
on  the  flat  knob  of  the  truck. 

Here  his  face  came  into  the  lower  focus  of  the  light 

—  strong,   clean-shaven,   clear-cut  features,   a  square, 

determined  chin,  two  dark,  earnest  eyes,  and  a  mop  of 

ruffled  black  hair,  for  his  deer-stalker  cap  had  blown 

off  'ere  he  cleared  the  spar  deck. 

"  Look  out  for  the  line,"  they  heard  him  shout.  The 
wind  brought  his  voice  plainly,  but  evidently  he  could 
distinguish  no  syllable  of  Brand's  answering  hail: 

"Shall  I  make  fast?" 

"Can't  hear  a  word,"  he  cried.  "If  you  can  hear 
me  hold  a  hand  up." 

Brand  obeyed. 

"  Catch  the  line,"  he  went  on.  "  It  is  attached 
to  a  block  with  a  running  tackle.  Haul  in  and  make 
fast." 

"The  megaphone!"  shouted  Brand  to  Constance. 
She  darted  away  to  bring  it,  and  when  the  adventurer 
clinging  to  the  fore-mast  had  thrown  a  coil  successfully, 
Brand  took  the  instrument. 

"Why  don't  you  come  this  way?  The  others  will 
follow,"  he  bellowed. 

"  There  are  women  and  children  down  below.  They 
must  be  saved  first,  and  they  cannot  climb  the  mast," 
was  the  reply. 

[115] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"All  right,  but  send  up  a  couple  of  sailors.  We  are 
short-handed  here." 

"Right-o,"  sang  out  the  other  cheerily,  though  he 
wondered  why  three  men  should  anticipate  difficulty. 

Down  he  went.  Without  waiting,  Brand  and  the 
girls  hauled  lustily  at  the  rope.  It  was  no  child's  play 
to  hoist  a  heavy  pulley  and  several  hundred  feet  of  stout 
cordage.  More  than  once  they  feared  the  first  thin 
rope  would  break,  but  it  was  good  hemp,  and  soon  the 
block  was  hooked  to  the  strong  iron  stanchions  of  the 
railing.  To  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  Brand  told 
Enid  to  take  several  turns  of  the  spare  cord  around  the 
hook  and  the  adjacent  rails. 

Meanwhile,  Constance  and  he  saw  that  the  rope  was 
moving  through  the  pulley  without  their  assistance. 
Then  through  the  whirling  scud  beneath  they  made  out 
an  ascending  figure  clinging  to  it.  Soon  he  was  close 
to  the  gallery.  Catching  him  by  arms  and  collar  they 
lifted  him  into  safety.  He  was  one  of  the  junior  offi- 
cers, and  Constance,  though  she  hardly  expected  it,  ex- 
perienced a  momentary  feeling  of  disappointment  that 
the  first  man  to  escape  was  not  the  handsome  youth 
to  whose  cool  daring  some  at  least  of  the  ship's  com- 
pany would  owe  their  lives. 

The  newcomer  was  a  typical  Briton. 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "Close  shave.  Have  you  a 
light  ?  We  must  signal  after  each  arrival." 

Enid  brought  the  small  lantern,  and  the  stranger 
waved  it  twice.  The  rope  traveled  back  through  the 
[116] 


The  Lottery 

pulley,  and  this  time  it  carried  a  sailor-man,  who  said 
not  one  word  but  stooped  to  tie  his  boot-lace. 

"  How  many  are  left  ?  "  inquired  Brand  of  the  officer. 

"About  eighty,  all  told,  including  some  twenty 
women  and  children." 

"All  wet  to  the  skin?" 

"Yes:  some  of  them  unconscious,  perhaps  dead." 

"  Can  you  hold  out  ?  " 

"Yes;     A  nip  of  brandy — " 

"  I  will  send  some.  We  must  leave  you  now.  These 
with  me  are  my  daughters." 

At  last  the  crust  of  insular  self-possession  was  broken. 
The  man  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  seeming 
lighthouse-keepers . 

"  Well,  I'm  — ,"  he  blurted  out  in  his  surprise.  "  That 
American  youngster  wondered  what  the  trouble  was." 

A  shapeless  bundle  hove  in  sight.  It  contained  two 
little  girls,  tied  inside  a  tarpaulin  and  lashed  to  the  rope. 
This,  evidently,  was  the  plan  for  dealing  with  the  help- 
less ones. 

Brand  instantly  divided  his  forces.  Enid  he  dis- 
patched to  make  hot  cocoa  in  the  quickest  and  most 
lavish  manner  possible.  Constance  was  to  give  each 
new  arrival  a  small  quantity  of  stimulant  (the  light- 
house possessed  a  dozen  bottles  of  brandy  and  whiskey) 
and  act  as  escort.  The  women  and  children  were  to 
be  allotted  the  two  bedrooms.  Any  bad  cases  of  injury 
or  complete  exhaustion  could  be  disposed  of  in  the 
visiting  officer's  room,  whilst  all  the  men  fit  to  take  care 
of  themselves  were  to  be  distributed  between  the  en- 
[117] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

trance,  the  coal-room,  the  workshop  and  the  stairways. 
The  kitchen,  store-room  and  service-room  were  to  be 
kept  clear,  and  the  store-room  door  locked.  Eighty! 
Brand  was  already  doing  problems  in  simple  arithmetic. 

A  similar  problem,  with  a  different  point  to  be  de- 
termined, was  occupying  the  active  mind  of  the  "  Ameri- 
can youngster"  who  had  solved  the  knottiest  proposi- 
tion put  forward  during  that  eventful  night. 

He  watched  the  forwarding  of  the  shrieking,  shud- 
dering, or  inanimate  women.  He  timed  the  operation 
by  his  watch,  as  the  reflected  light  from  the  lamp  was 
quite  sufficient  for  the  purpose. 

Then  he  approached  the  captain. 

"  Say,  skipper,"  he  cried,  "  how  long  do  you  give  the 
remains  of  her  to  hold  out?" 

"It  is  not  high-water  yet,"  was  the  answer.  "Per- 
haps half  an  hour.  Forty  minutes  at  the  utmost." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  boost  this  thing  along  a  good 
deal  faster,"  said  the  cheerful  one.  "They're  going 
up  now  at  the  rate  of  one  every  two  minutes.  That's 
thirty  in  half  an  hour.  Fifty  of  us  will  travel  a  heap 
quicker  at  the  end  of  that  time  if  your  calculation  holds 
good." 

The  captain,  who  appeared  to  be  in  a  stupor  of  grief, 
roused  himself. 

A  few  short  and  sharp  orders  changed  the  aspect  of 
affairs.  Frightened  and  protesting  ladies  were  se- 
curely tied  together,  and  hoisted,  four  at  a  time,  like  so 
many  bags  of  wheat.  When  it  came  to  the  men's  turn 
even  less  ceremony  and  greater  expedition  were  used. 
[118] 


The  Lottery 

Indeed,  already  there  were  emphatic  warnings  that 
much  valuable  time  had  been  lost  in  the  early  stage  of 
the  rescue.  Though  the  wind  was  now  only  blowing 
a  stiff  gale,  the  sea,  lashed  to  frenzy  by  the  hurricane, 
was  heavier  than  ever  .The  ship  was  vanishing  visibly. 
A  funnel  fell  with  a  hideous  crash  and  carried  away  a 
life-boat.  The  rest  of  the  spar  deck  and  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  forward  cabins  were  torn  out  bodily.  By 
repeated  thumping  on  the  reef  the  vessel  had  settled 
back  almost  onto  an  even  keel,  and  the  fore-mast,  which 
had  so  providentially  neared  the  summit  of  the  light- 
house, was  now  removed  far  beyond  the  possibility  of  a 
rope  being  thrown. 

The  survivors  on  deck  worked  with  feverish  energy. 
The  time  was  drawing  short.  They  did  not  know  the 
second  that  some  unusually  tempestuous  wave  would 
devour  them  utterly. 

"Now,  Mr.  Pyne,  you  next,"  cried  the  chief  officer, 
addressing  the  young  Philadelphian,  who,  mirabile 
dictu,  had  found  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  Guess  I'll  swing  up  along  with  the  captain,"  was 
the  answer. 

"Up  with  him,"  shouted  the  captain,  fiercely,  him- 
self helping  to  loop  Pyne  to  the  fourth  officer. 

All  others  had  gone.  The  officers  were  leaving  the 
ship  in  order  of  seniority,  the  juniors  first.  Just  as  the 
quartette  were  about  to  swing  clear  of  the  ship  the  cap- 
tain grasped  Pyne's  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  lad,"  he  said,  and  away  they  went. 

There  were  left  on  the  vessel  the  third,  second,  and 
[119] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

first  officers,  the  purser,  and  the  captain.  The  others 
wanted  the  captain  to  come  with  them.  He  resisted, 
held  out  for  his  right  to  be  the  last  to  quit  a  ship  he  had 
commanded  for  more  than  twenty  years,  and  hoarsely 
forbade  any  further  argument. 

Very  unwillingly,  they  left  him  hauling  alone  at  the 
rope,  though  their  predecessors,  knowing  the  need  of  it, 
helped  vigorously  from  the  gallery.  Indeed,  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  Pyne  was  held  back  from  returning 
with  the  descending  rope.  They  told  him  he  was  mad 
to  dream  of  such  a  piece  of  folly,  and  perforce  he  de- 
sisted. 

But  when  the  captain  deliberately  cast  off  the  deck- 
pulley  from  which  the  rope  had  been  manipulated  they 
knew  that  the  boy  had  read  his  soul.  The  now  useless 
cordage  dangling  from  the  gallery  was  caught  by  the 
wind  and  sea  and  sent  whipping  off  to  leeward. 

Brand,  brought  from  the  lantern  by  the  hubbub  of 
shouting,  came  out,  followed  by  Constance.  He  sug- 
gested, as  a  last  resource,  that  they  should  endeavor  to 
fire  a  line  across  the  vessel  by  means  of  a  rocket. 

They  agreed  to  try,  for  the  spectacle  of  the  captain, 
standing  bareheaded  on  all  that  was  left  of  the  bridge, 
moved  them  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy  not  often  seen  in  an 
assemblage  of  Anglo-Saxons,  and  especially  of  sailors. 

Brand  turned  to  procure  the  rocket,  but  a  loud  cry 
caused  him  to  delay.  The  expected  wave  had  come, 
the  vessel  was  smothered  in  a  vortex  of  foam,  the  tall 
fore-mast  tottered  and  fell,  and  when  the  water  sub- 
sided again  all  that  was  visible  of  the  great  steamer  was 
[120] 


The  Lottery 

some  portion  of  her  hull  and  the  solidly  built  bow,  which 
was  not  wrenched  from  the  keel-plate  until  another 
hour  had  passed. 

The  agonized  cry  of  a  strong  man  is  a  woful  thing. 
Constance,  by  reason  of  the  gathering  at  the  side  of  the 
gallery,  was  unable  to  see  all  that  was  taking  place. 
But  the  yell  which  went  up  from  the  onlookers  told  her 
that  something  out  of  the  common,  even  on  this  night 
of  thrills,  had  occurred. 

"  What  is  it,  dad  ?  "  she  asked,  as  her  father  came  to 
her. 

"  The  end  of  the  ship,"  he  said.  "  The  captain  has 
gone  with  her." 

"  Oh,  dear,  why  wasn't  he  saved  ?  " 

"I  think  he  refused  to  desert  his  ship.  His  heart 
was  broken,  I  expect.  Now,  Connie,  duty  first." 

Indeed,  she  required  no  telling.  As  each  of  the  ship- 
wrecked men  entered  the  lantern,  she  handed  him  a 
glass  of  spirits,  asked  if  he  were  injured,  and  told  him 
exactly  how  many  flights  of  stairs  he  had  to  descend. 
But  cocoa  and  biscuits  would  be  brought  soon,  she  ex- 
plained: greatly  amazed,  but  speechless  for  the  most 
part,  the  men  obeyed  her  directions. 

One  of  the  last  to  claim  her  attention  was  the  young 
American,  Mr.  Pyne.  Her  face  lit  up  pleasurably 
when  she  saw  him. 

"I  was  wondering  what  had  become  of  you,"  she 
said.  "My  sister  has  asked  me  several  times  if  you 
had  arrived,  and  I  imagined  that  I  must  have  missed 
you  by  some  chance." 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Now  all  this  was  Greek  to  him,  or  nearly  so.  Indeed, 
had  it  been  intelligible  Greek,  he  might  have  guessed 
its  purport  more  easily. 

Holding  the  glass  in  his  hand  he  looked  at  her  in 
frank,  open-eyed  wonder.  To  be  hailed  so  gleefully  by 
a  good-looking  girl,  whom  he  had  never  to  his  knowl- 
edge set  eyes  on,  was  somewhat  of  a  mystery,  and  the 
puzzle  was  made  all  the  more  difficult  by  the  fact  that 
she  had  discarded  the  weather-proof  accoutrements 
needed  when  she  first  ventured  forth  on  the  gallery. 

"  I'm  real  glad  you're  pleased.  My  name  is  Charles 
A.  Pyne,"  he  said,  slowly. 

It  was  now  Constance's  turn  to  be  bewildered.  Then 
the  exact  situation  dawned  on  her. 

"How  stupid  of  me,"  she  cried.  "Of  course  you 
don't  recognize  me  again.  My  sister  and  I  happen  to 
be  alone  with  my  father  on  the  rock  tonight.  We  were 
with  him  on  the  balcony  when  you  acted  so  bravely. 
You  see,  the  light  shone  clear  on  your  face." 

"  I'm  glad  it's  shining  on  yours  now,"  he  said. 

"You  must  go  two  floors  below  this,"  said  she  se- 
verely. "  I  will  bring  you  some  cocoa  and  a  biscuit  as 
quickly  as  possible." 

"I  am  not  a  bit  tired,"  he  commented,  still  looking 
at  her. 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  say,"  she  answered,  "  but 
I  arn  so  delighted  that  we  managed  to  save  so  many 
poor  people." 

"How  many?" 

"Seventy-eight.  But  I  dare  not  ask  you  now  how 
[122] 


The  Lottery 

many  are  lost.  It  would  make  me  cry,  and  I  have  no 
time  for  tears.  Will  you  really  help  to  carry  a  tray  ?  " 

"Just  try  me." 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  Constance  called  to  her 
father : 

"  Anything  you  want,  dad  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear.  Find  out  the  chief  officer,  and  send 
him  to  me.  He  can  eat  and  drink  here  whilst  we  talk." 


[123] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
AN  INTERLUDE 

"PLEASE  be  careful;  these  stairs  are  very  steep," 
said  Constance,  swinging  the  lantern  close  to  her  com- 
panion's feet  as  they  climbed  down  the  topmost  flight. 

"If  I  fall,"  he  assured  her,  "you  will  be  the  chief 
sufferer." 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  not  fall.  Wait 
here  a  moment.  I  must  have  a  look  at  the  hospital." 

The  visiting-officer's  room,  which  also  served  the 
purposes  of  a  library  and  recreation  room  in  normal 
times,  now  held  fourteen  injured  persons,  including 
two  women,  one  of  them  a  stewardess,  and  a  little  girl. 

Most  of  the  sufferers  had  received  their  wounds 
either  in  the  saloon  or  by  collision  with  the  cornice  of 
the  lighthouse.  The  worst  accident  was  a  broken  arm, 
the  most  alarming  a  case  of  cerebral  concussion.  Other 
injuries  consisted,  for  the  most  part,  of  cuts  and  bruises. 

Unfortunately,  when  the  ship  struck,  the  surgeon  had 
gone  aft  to  attend  to  an  engineer  whose  hand  was 
crushed  as  the  result  of  some  frantic  lurch  caused  by 
the  hurricane ;  hence  the  doctor  was  lost  with  the  first 
batch  of  victims.  Enid  discovered  that  among  the 
[124] 


An  Interlude 

few  steerage  passengers  saved  was  a  man  who  had 
gained  some  experience  in  a  field-hospital  during  the 
campaign  in  Cuba.  Aided  by  the  plain  directions  sup- 
plied with  the  medicine  chest  of  the  lighthouse,  the 
ex-hospital  orderly  had  done  wonders  already. 

"All  I  want,  miss,"  he  explained,  in  answer  to  Con- 
stance's question,  "is  some  water  and  some  linen  for 
bandages.  The  lint  outfit  in  the  chest  is  not  half  suffi- 
cient." 

She  vanished,  to  return  quickly  with  a  sheet  and  a 
pair  of  scissors. 

"  Now,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Pyne,  "  if  you  come  with  me 
I  will  send  you  back  with  a  pail  of  water." 

She  took  him  to  the  kitchen,  where  Enid,  aided  by  a 
sailor,  pressed  into  service,  was  dispensing  cocoa  and 
biscuits.  Pyne,  who  remained  in  the  stairway,  went 
off  with  the  water  and  Constance's  lantern.  The  in- 
terior of  the  lighthouse  was  utterly  dark.  To  move 
without  a  light,  and  with  no  prior  knowledge  of  its 
internal  arrangements,  was  positively  dangerous.  All 
told,  there  were  seven  lamps  of  various  sizes  available. 
Brand  had  one,  four  were  distributed  throughout  the 
apartments  tenanted  by  the  survivors  of  the  wreck,  two 
were  retained  for  transit  purposes,  and  the  men  shiver- 
ing in  the  entrance  passage  had  no  light  at  all. 

Constance  took  Enid's  lantern  in  order  to  discover 
the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Emmett,  the  first  officer,  the 
tray-carrying  sailor  offering  to  guide  her  to  him. 

When  Pyne  came  back  he  found  Enid  in  the  dark 
and  mistook  her  for  Constance. 
[125] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  They  want  some  more,"  he  cried  at  the  door. 

"Some  more  what?"  she  demanded.  It  was  no 
time  for  elegant  diction.  Her  heart  jumped  each  time 
the  sea  sprang  at  the  rock.  It  seemed  to  be  so  much 
worse  in  the  dark. 

"Water,"  said  he. 

"  Dear  me.  I  should  have  thought  everybody  would 
be  fully  satisfied  in  that  respect." 

He  held  up  the  lantern. 

"Well,  that's  curious,"  he  cried.  "I  imagined  you 
were  the  other  young  lady.  The  water  is  needed  in 
the  hospital." 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  ? "  she  snapped,  being  in 
reality  very  angry  with  herself  for  her  flippancy.  She 
gave  him  a  full  pail  and  he  quitted  her. 

Constance,  having  delivered  her  father's  message  to 
Mr.  Emmett,  was  greeted  with  a  tart  question  when 
she  re-entered  the  kitchen: 

"Why  on  earth  didn't  you  tell  me  that  young  man 
was  attending  to  the  injured  people  ?  Is  he  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.     What  happened  ?  " 

"He  came  for  a  second  supply  of  water  and  nearly 
bit  my  head  off." 

"  Oh,  Enid !  I  am  sure  he  did  not  mean  anything. 
Didn't  you  recognize  him  ?  It  was  he  who  climbed 
the  mast  and  flung  the  rope  to  us." 

"  There ! "  said  Enid,  "  I've  gone  and  done  it.  Hon- 
estly, you  know,  it  was  I  who  was  rude.  He  will  think 
me  a  perfect  cat." 

"That  isn't  what  people  are  saying,"  explained  Mr. 
[126] 


An  Interlude 

Pyne,  whose  approach  was  deadened  by  the  outer  noise. 
"  There's  a  kind  of  general  idea  floating  round  that  this 
locality  is  an  annex  of  heaven,  with  ministering  angels 
in  attendance." 

In  the  half  light  of  the  tiny  lamps  he  could  not  see 
Enid's  scarlet  face.  There  was  a  moment's  silence, 
and  this  very  self-possessed  youth  spoke  again. 

"The  nice  things  we  all  have  to  tell  you  will  keep," 
he  said.  "  Would  you  mind  letting  me  know  in  which 
rooms  you  have  located  the  ladies  ?  " 

Constance,  as  major  domo,  gave  the  information 
asked  for: 

"They  are  in  the  two  bedrooms  overhead.  Poor 
things !  I  am  at  my  wits'  end  to  know  how  to  get  their 
clothing  dried.  You  see,  Mr.  Pyne,  my  sister  and  I 
have  no  spare  clothes  here.  We  only  came  to  the  rock 
this  afternoon,  by  the  merest  chance." 

"  That  is  just  what  was  troubling  me,"  he  answered. 
"  I  am  sort  of  interested  in  one  of  them." 

"Oh,"  said  Constance,  "I  do  wish  I  could  help. 
But,  indeed,  my  own  skirts  are  wringing  wet." 

"From  what  I  can  make  out,  then,  my  prospective 
step-aunt  will  catch  a  very  bad  cold." 

The  queer  phrase  puzzled  the  girls,  but  Constance, 
rarely  for  her,  jumped  at  a  conclusion. 

"Your  prospective  step-aunt.  You  mean,  perhaps, 
your  fiancee's  aunt  ?"  she  suggested. 

"I  don't  know  the  lady.     No,  ma'am.     I  was  right 
first  time.     Mrs.  Vansittart  is  going  to  marry  my  uncle, 
so  I  keep  an  eye  on  her  stock  to  that  extent." 
[127] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"How  stupid  of  me!"  she  explained,  whilst  a  de- 
lighted giggle  from  Enid  did  not  help  to  mend  matters. 
So  Constance  became  ver/  stately. 

"I  will  ask  Mrs.  Vansittart  to  come  out  and  speak 
to  you  —  "  she  began. 

"No,  no!  I  don't  wish  th^t.  You  might  tell  her 
I  am  all  right.  That  is  the  limit.  And  —  may  I  make 
a  suggestion  ?  " 

"Pray  do." 

"It  will  help  considerable  if  the  women-folk  take  it 
in  turn  to  get  into  the  beds  or  bunks.  Then,  some  of 
their  linen  could  be  dried  at  the  stove.  I  will  take 
charge  of  that  part  of  the  business,  if  I  may.  Other- 
wise, some  of  them  will  die." 

The  girls  agreed  that  this  was  a  capital  idea.  Con- 
stance went  upstairs.  In  the  first  room  she  inquired : 

"  Is  Mrs.  Vansittart  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  a  sweet  but  rather  querulous  voice. 

A  lady,  who  had  already  appropriated  the  lower 
bunk,  raised  herself  on  an  elbow. 

The  little  apartment,  like  every  part  of  the  building, 
save  the  rooms  reserved  by  Brand's  directions,  was 
packed  almost  to  suffocation.  This,  if  harmful  in  one 
respect,  was  beneficial  in  another.  The  mere  animal 
warmth  of  so  many  human  beings  was  grateful  after 
the  freezing  effect  of  the  gale  on  people  literally  soaked 
to  the  skin. 

The  girl,  not  unmoved  by  curiosity,  held  the  light  so 
that  it  illumined  Mrs.  Vansittart.  A  woman  of  forty, 
no  matter  how  good-looking  and  well-preserved  she 
[128] 


A  n  Interlude 

may  be,  is  in  sorry  plight  under  such  conditions.  Con- 
stance saw  a  beautiful  face,  deathly  white  and  haggard, 
yet  animated  and  clearly  chiseled.  The  eyes  were 
large  and  lustrous,  the  mouth  firm,  the  nose  and  chin 
those  of  a  Greek  statue.  Just  now  there  were  deep 
lines  across  the  base  of  the  high  forehead.  The  thin 
lips,  allied  to  a  transient  hawk-like  gleam  in  the  prom- 
inent eyes,  gave  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  harsh,  per- 
haps cruel  disposition.  A  charming  smile  promptly 
dispelled  this  fleeting  impression.  Instantly  Constance 
was  aware  of  having  seen  Mrs.  Vansittart  before.  So 
vivid  was  the  fanciful  idea  that  she  became  tongue-tied. 

"  Do  you  want  me  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  with  a  new 
interest,  and  still  smiling.  Constance  found  herself 
wondering  if  the  smile  were  not  cultivated  to  hide  that 
faintly  caught  suggestion  of  the  bird  of  prey.  But  the 
question  restored  her  mental  poise. 

"  Only  to  say  that  Mr.  Pyne  —  "  she  began. 

"Charlie!    Is  he  saved?" 

Mrs.  Vansittart  certainly  had  the  faculty  of  betraying 
intense  interest.  The  girl  attributed  the  nervous  start, 
the  quick  color  which  tinged  the  white  cheeks,  to  the 
natural  anxiety  of  a  woman  who  stood  in  such  approx- 
imate degree  of  kin  to  the  young  American. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  with  ready  sympathy. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  all  of  you  owe  your  lives  to  his 
daring  ?  He  asked  me  to  —  to  say  he  was  all  right, 
and  —  that  he  hoped  you  were  not  utterly  collapsed." 

The  addendum  was  a  kindly  one.  No  doubt,  Mr. 
Pyne  had  meant  her  to  convey  such  a  message.  Mrs. 
[129] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Vansittart,  it  was  evident,  had  received  a  shock.  Per- 
haps she  was  a  timorous,  shrinking  woman,  averse  to 
the  sudden  stare  of  others. 

"I  know  nothing,"  she  murmured.  "It  was  all  so 
horrible.  Oh,  God!  shall  I  ever  forget  that  scene  in 
the  saloon.  How  the  people  fought.  They  were  not 
human.  They  were  tigers,  fierce  tigers,  with  the  howls 
and  the  baleful  eyes  of  wild  beasts." 

This  outburst  was  as  unexpected  as  her  staccato 
question.  Constance  bent  over  her  and  placed  a  gentle 
hand  on  her  forehead. 

"  You  must  try  to  forget  all  that,"  she  said,  soothingly. 
"Indeed,  it  must  have  been  very  terrible.  It  was 
dreadful  enough  for  us,  looking  down  at  things  through 
a  mist  of  foam.  For  you  —  But  there !  You  are  one 
of  the  few  who  escaped.  That  is  everything.  God 
has  been  very  good  to  you ! " 

She  was  stooping  low  and  holding  the  lantern  in  her 
left  hand. 

Suddenly,  Mrs.  Vansittart's  eyes  gleamed  again  with 
that  lambent  light  so  oddly  at  variance  with  her  smile. 
The  slight  flush  of  excitement  yielded  to  a  ghostly  pal- 
lor. With  surprising  energy  she  caught  the  girl's  arm. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  whispered.  "Tell  me,  child, 
who  are  you  ?  " 

"My  father  is  the  lighthouse-keeper,"  said  Con- 
stance. "I  am  here  quite  by  chance.  I  — " 

"  But  your  name !     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Constance  Brand." 

"  Brand,  did  you  say  ?     And  your  father's  name  ?  " 
[130] 


An  Interlude 

"  Stephen  Brand.  Really,  Mrs.  Vansittart,  you  must 
try  to  compose  yourself.  You  are  over-wrought,  and  — 

She  was  about  to  say  "  feverish."  Indeed,  that  was  a 
mild  word.  The  strange  glare  in  Mrs.  Vansittart's  eyes 
amazed  her.  She  shrank  away,  but  only  for  an  instant. 
With  a  deep  sigh,  the  lady  sank  back  on  the  pillow  and 
fainted. 

Constance  was  then  frightened  beyond  question. 
She  feared  that  the  seizure  might  be  a  serious  one,  under 
the  circumstances.  To  her  great  relief,  another  woman, 
who  could  not  help  overhearing  the  conversation  and 
witnessing  its  sequel,  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  she  said.  "Mrs.  Vansittart 
is  very  highly  strung.  She  fainted  in  the  saloon.  She 
does  not  realize  that  Mr.  Pyne  not  only  saved  her,  but 
nearly  every  woman  here,  when  the  door  was  broken 
open.  Now,  don't  you  worry,  my  dear,  I  will  look 
after  her.  You  have  a  great  deal  to  do,  I  am  sure." 

Constance  realized  that  the  advice  was  good.  She 
could  not  attend  to  one  and  neglect  many. 

Telling  the  women  of  the  plan  to  dry  their  under- 
clothing in  sections,  she  asked  them  to  help  her  by 
arranging  matters  so  that  their  garments  should  be  di- 
vided into  lots.  Then  she  went  to  the  second  bedroom 
and  made  the  same  suggestion.  The  case  of  the  suffer- 
ers in  the  hospital  required  more  drastic  measures.  The 
little  girl  she  stripped  with  her  own  hands  and  clothed 
her  in  one  of  Brand's  flannel  shirts  and  a  commandeered 
reefer  jacket. 

Two  of  Brand's  spare  suits  and  a  couple  of  blankets 
[131] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

enabled  the  two  injured  women,  who  were  able  to  walk, 
to  get  rid  of  their  wet  garments  in  the  crowded  room 
beneath,  and  the  lockers  of  Jackson  and  Bates  made  it 
possible  for  the  men  who  most  needed  attention  to  be 
made  comfortable  by  the  invaluable  hospital  orderly. 

Constance  was  kept  busy  flying  up  and  down  to  the 
kitchen,  whilst  Enid,  having  met  all  immediate  demands 
in  the  matter  of  a  hot  beverage  and  something  to  eat, 
supplemented  her  labors. 

Pyne  worked  like  a  Trojan.  As  each  pile  of  sodden 
garments  was  delivered  to  him  he  squeezed  out  as  much 
water  as  possible  with  his  hands  and  then  applied  him- 
self to  the  task  of  baking  them  dry.  He  did  this,  too, 
in  a  very  efficient  way,  speedily  converting  the  kitchen 
into  a  miniature  Turkish  bath.  At  the  end  of  an  hour, 
he  had  succeeded  so  well  that  more  than  one-half  of 
the  females  were  supplied  with  tolerably  dry  and  warm 
under-clothing.  With  their  heavier  garments,  of  course 
nothing  could  be  done. 

Once,  on  the  stairs,  Enid  detained  Constance  for  a 
moment's  chat. 

"Mrs.  Vansittart  is  odd,"  she  said. 

Constance,  so  taken  up  was  she  with  many  errands, 
had  forgotten  the  lady. 

"How  thoughtless  of  me,"  she  cried.  "Is  she  bet- 
ter?" 

"  Yes.     But  when  I  went  in  just  now  to  give  her  her 

clothes,  she  said  to  me:      'Are  you  the  sister  of  the 

other  —  of   Constance  Brand  ? '     It  was  no  time  for 

explanations,  so  I  just  said  '  Yes.'     She  gave  me  such  a 

[132] 


An  Interlude 

queer  look,  and  then  smiled  quite  pleasantly,  apologiz- 
ing for  troubling  me." 

Constance  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  she  knew  dad  years  ago,"  she  said. 

"  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Pyne  said  about  her  ?  " 

"How  can  I  tell  ?     Did  you  speak  of  her  to  him  ?  " 

"I  told  him  she  had  fainted  when  you  delivered  his 
message.  He  said : '  Guess  she  can  faint  as  easy  as  I 
can  fall  off  a  house.'  Isn't  he  funny  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  splendid,"  said  Constance. 

The  wreck  was  now  wholly  demolished.  The  first 
big  wave  of  the  retreating  tide  enveloped  the  lighthouse 
and  smote  it  with  thunderous  malice.  Screams  came 
from  the  women's  quarters. 

"  Go,  Enid,"  said  Constance.  "  Tell  them  they  have 
nothing  to  fear.  They  must  expect  these  things  to  hap- 
pen for  nearly  two  hours.  Tell  them  what  dad  said. 
Twenty-five  years,  you  know." 

Brave  hearts!  What  infinite  penetration  inspired 
the  man  who  first  said  "  Noblesse  oblige  !  " 

Constance  looked  in  at  the  kitchen.  Pyne  loomed 
through  a  fog  of  steam. 

"  Pay  no  heed  to  these  — "  she  was  interrupted  by 
another  mighty  thump  and  cataract  roar  — "  these 
blows  of  Thor's  hammer,"  she  cried. 

"Play  me  for  an  anvil,"  he  returned. 

She  descended  to  the  depths,  to  reassure  the  men. 

Talking  with  shrill  cheerfulness  at  each  doorway  was 

easy.     It  helped  her  to  go  down,  down,  feeling  stone 

and  iron  trembling  as  every  surge  was  hurled  many 

[133] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

feet  above  her  head.  At  last,  she  stood  on  the  lowest 
floor.  Beneath  her  feet  was  naught  but  granite  and 
iron  bars.  Here  was  solidity.  How  grateful  to  know 
of  this  firm  base,  rooted  in  the  very  world.  Her  heart 
leaped  to  her  mouth,  but  not  with  fear.  She  was  proud 
of  the  lighthouse,  strong  in  the  knowledge  of  its  ma- 
jestic strength. 

Nevertheless,  in  this  place,  the  source  of  her  own 
sense  of  security,  she  found  uneasiness  among  the  men. 
They  were  all  sailors  in  this  lowest  habitable  region. 
Their  pre-conceived  ideas  had  been  rudely  reversed. 
The  ship,  the  noble  structure  which  defied  the  storm 
by  yielding  to  its  utmost  fury,  had  for  them  no  terrors. 
But  the  stark  pillar  which  flinched  from  no  assault  be- 
wildered them.  It  was  impossible  to  believe  that  it 
could  withstand  the  strain.  Ha!  Listen  to  that.  The 
battering-ram  of  ocean  applied  to  a  thin  shaft  of  stone. 
Surely  it  must  be  pounded  into  fragments. 

Said  one,  with  indefinite  bellow  amidst  the  black 
turmoil:  "I  can't  stand  this,  mates." 

"  Up  aloft  for  me ! "  cried  another. 

"  Let's  die  with  our  eyes  open,  anyhow,"  chimed  in  a 
third. 

But  a  light  flashed  in  the  rolling  orbs  of  the  man 
who  was  already  on  the  stairs.  Astounded,  he  drew 
back.  Constance  stood  in  their  midst,  a  mere  girl, 
radiant,  smilingly  unconcerned,  addressing  them  in  calm 
words  broken  only  by  the  fitful  noises. 

"  Sorry  your  quarters  —  so  very  unpleasant.  Only 
[134] 


An  Interlude 

last  a  —  couple  of  hours.  Twenty-five  years  —  far 
worse  gales.  Want  any  more  cocoa  ?  " 

"Thank  you  kindly,  miss,  we're  quite  comfortable." 
This  from  the  man  who  wished  to  die  with  his  eyes  open. 

"  Please,  miss,  may  we  smoke  ?  "said  he  who  couldn't 
stand  it. 

Constance  hesitated.  Blithely  unconscious  that  a 
whiff  of  mutiny  had  swept  through  the  storm-tossed 
fold,  she  pondered  the  problem.  She  saw  no  harm 
in  it. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Smoke  by  all  means.  I  will  ask 
my  father,  and  if  it  should  be  dangerous  I  will  come 
back  and  let  you  know.  In  a  few  hours  it  will  be  day- 
light and  if  the  sea  falls  he  will  come  and  open  the 
door." 

By  sheer  inspiration  she  had  uttered  the  formula 
destined  to  annihilate  the  necromantic  bluster  of  the 
hammering  waves.  Open  the  door!  So  this  ponder- 
ous racket  was  a  mere  tidal  trick,  a  bogey,  which  each 
passing  minute  would  expose  more  thoroughly. 

"All  right,  miss,  an'  Gawd  bless  yer,"  growled  one 
who  had  not  spoken  hitherto.  There  was  a  chorus  of 
approval.  Constance  gave  a  little  gulp.  The  cul- 
tured and  delicate  lady  lying  in  the  bunk  above  had 
not  spoken  so. 

"Indeed,"  she  gasped,  "God  has  blessed  some  of  us 
this  night." 

Then  she  fled,  further  utterance  failing  her. 

Nearer  the  sky,  Brand  tended  the  lamp  and  discussed 
matters  with  chief  officer  Emmett.  The  sailor,  with 
[135] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

the  terse  directness  of  his  class,  told  how  the  Chinook 
had  made  an  excellent  voyage  from  New  York  until  she 
ran  into  bad  weather  about  four  hundred  miles  west  of 
the  Lizard. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "as  if  we  dropped  onto 
the  track  of  that  hurricane  after  it  had  curved  away  to 

the  norrard,  and  that  the  d d  thing  swooped  down 

on  us  again  when  we  were  abreast  of  the  Bishop  Light." 

Brand  nodded.  This  surmise  agreed  with  his  own 
theory  of  the  storm,  as  indicated  by  the  sea. 

Mr.  Emmett  held  out  a  clenched  fist  with  thumb 
jerked  towards  the  reef. 

"I  wouldn't  breathe  a  word  if  he  wasn't  gone,"  he 
said,  "but  the  old  man  was  drivin'  her  too  hard.  I 
knew  it,  and  the  chief  knew  it "  -  he  meant  the  chief 
engineer — "but  he  wouldn't  listen  to  either  Mac  or 
me.  Fact  is,  he  was  fair  crazy  to  set  up  a  new  record 
for  the  boat.  She's  been  crossin'  the  Atlantic  forty 
times  a  year  for  upwards  of  twenty  years,  and  the  recent 
alterations,  although  they  added  fifty  feet  to  her  length, 
only  increased  her  engine-power  in  proportion." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  broke  in  Brand.  "  You  speak 
as  if  the  Chinook  were  nearly  as  old  as  this  lighthouse, 
yet  I  have  never  even  heard  her  name  before." 

"You  know  her  well  enough  all  the  same,"  said  the 
other  ruefully.  "  This  is  her  maiden  voyage  since  she 
was  altered ;  an'  they  rechristened  her,  too  —  always  a 

d d  unlucky  thing  to  do,  I  say.     Bless  your  heart, 

man,  she  is  the  old  Princess  Royal.  Eh?  What's 
that?" 

[136] 


An  Interlude 

He  guffawed  mournfully  at  Brand's  involuntary  ex- 
clamation. 

"Certain!  Well,  surely  I  ought  to  know.  I  have 
passed  most  of  my  service  with  the  company  in  her, 
and  when  I  took  a  crew  to  Cramp's  to  navigate  her  to 
New  York  after  she  was  smartened  up  I  little  imagined 
I  would  see  her  laid  by  forever  the  next  time  we  saw  the 
lights  of  Old  England.  My  goodness,  even  what  was 
left  of  the  old  girl  ought  to  know  her  way  better'n  that." 

"  But  what  did  really  happen  ?  " 

"  Drivin'  her,  I  tell  you  —  drivin'  her  full  pelt  to  land 
the  mails  at  Southampton  twelve  hours  ahead  of  sched- 
ule. With  that  awful  sea  liftin'  her,  and  a  shaft  twenty 
feet  longer,  what  could  you  expect?  Poor  Perkins! 
A  rare  hard  worker,  too.  Now  he's  gone  down  with 
his  ship  an'  over  two  hundred  passengers  an'  crew." 

"Judging  by  the  number  saved  I  feared  that  more 
were  lost." 

"It's  the  off  season,  you  know.  The  passenger  list 
was  light.  For  the  Lord's  sake,  think  of  what  it  might 
have  been  in  May  or  June ! "  . 

"It  is  bad  enough  as  it  is.  All  has  not  ended  with 
the  disappearance  of  the  vessel." 

The  sailor  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  Brand. 

"  You  can't  be  thinkin'  anyone  was  to  blame  —  "  he 
commenced.  But  Brand  waved  aside  the  fancied  im- 
putation. 

"Blame!"  he  said.  "With  a  broken  shaft!  In  that 
whirlwind!  No,  no.  I  sent  for  you  to  talk  over  the 
new  difficulty  which  has  to  be  faced.  There  are  food, 
[137] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

water  and  fuel  here  for  three  men  for  two  months.  If 
you  do  a  little  sum  you  will  find  that  the  available  stores 
on  the  basis  of  full  rations  will  maintain  eighty-one 
people  for  two  days  and  a  quarter." 

"  But  we're  only  six  miles  from  the  mainland."  Mr. 
Emmett  had  not  yet  grasped  the  true  meaning  of  the 
figures. 

"  I  have  been  here  more  than  once  for  six  weeks  at  a 
stretch,  when,  for  all  the  assistance  we  could  receive, 
we  might  as  well  have  been  within  the  Arctic  Circle." 

Again  the  sailor  jerked  his  thumb  towards  the  reef. 

"  Is  it  as  bad  as  all  that  ?  "  he  queried  anxiously. 

"Yes." 

"But  six  weeks.  Good  Lord!"  Mr.  Emmett  had 
done  the  little  sum. 

"  That  is  exceptional.  A  week  is  the  average  unless 
the  unexpected  happens,  after  a  gale  like  this.  And  a 
week  will  test  our  endurance  to  the  limit." 

Mr.  Emmett  whistled  softly.  A  grisly  phantom  was 
creeping  at  him.  He  shivered,  and  not  from  cold. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said.     "  What's  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  must  help  me  to  maintain  iron 
discipline.  To  leave  the  rock  today  or  tomorrow  will 
be  an  absolute  impossibility.  On  the  next  day,  with 
luck  and  a  steady  moderation  of  the  weather,  we  may 
devise  some  desperate  means  of  landing  all  the  active 
men  or  getting  fresh  supplies.  That  is  in  the  hands  of 
Providence.  I  want  you  to  warn  your  officers,  and 
others  whom  you  can  trust,  either  sailors  or  civilians. 
Better  arrange  three  watches.  My  daughters  will  have 
[138] 


An  Interlude 

charge  of  the  stores.  By  going  through  the  lists  in  the 
store-room  I  can  portion  out  the  rations  for  six  days. 
I  think  we  had  better  fix  on  that  minimum." 

"Of  course  I  will  back  you  up  in  every  way,"  said 
Mr.  Emmett,  who  felt  chillier  at  this  moment  than  at 
any  time  during  the  night.  "I  know  you  are  acting 
wisely,  but  I  admit  I  am  scared  at  the  thought  of  what 
may  happen  —  if  those  days  pass  and  no  help  is  avail- 
able." 

Brand  knew  what  would  happen,  and  it  was  hard  to 
lock  the  secret  in  his  heart.  He  alone  must  live.  That 
was  essential,  the  one  thing  carved  in  stone  upon  the 
tablets  of  his  brain,  a  thing  to  be  fought  out  behind 
barred  door,  revolver  in  hand. 

Whatever  else  took  place,  if  men  and  women,  per- 
haps his  own  sweet  girls,  were  dying  of  thirst  and  star- 
vation, the  light  must  shine  at  night  over  its  allotted  span 
of  the  slumbering  sea.  There,  on  the  little  table  be- 
side him,  lay  the  volume  of  Rules  and  Regulations. 
What  did  it  say  ? 

"The  keepers,  both  principal  and  assistant,  are  en- 
joined never  to  allow  any  interests,  whether  private  or 
otherwise,  to  interfere  with  the  discharge  of  their  public 
duties,  the  importance  of  which  to  the  safety  of  naviga- 
tion cannot  be  overrated." 

There  was  no  ambiguity  in  the  words,  no  halting  sen- 
tence which  opened  a  way  for  a  man  to  plead :  "  I 
thought  it  best."  Those  who  framed  the  rule  meant 
what  they  said.  No  man  could  bend  the  steel  of  their 
intent. 

[139] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

To  end  the  intolerable  strain  of  his  thoughts  Stephen 
Brand  forced  his  lips  to  a  thin  smile  and  his  voice  to  say 
harshly : 

"  If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  there  are  more  than 
three  thousand  gallons  of  colza  oil  in  store.  That 
should  maintain  life.  It  is  a  vegetable  oil." 

Then  Constance  thrust  her  glowing  face  into  the 
lighted  area. 

"  Dad,"  she  cried,  cheerfully,  "  the  men  wish  to  know 
if  they  may  smoke.  Poor  fellows !  They  are  so  miser- 
able —  so  cold  and  damp  and  dreary  down  there. 
Please  say 'Yes.'" 


[140] 


CHAPTER  IX 
MRS.  VANSITTART 

THE  purser,  faithful  to  his  trust,  had  secured  the 
ship's  books.  He  alone,  among  the  survivors  of  the 
Chinook,  had  brought  a  parcel  of  any  sort  from  that 
ill-fated  ship.  The  others  possessed  the  clothes  they 
wore,  their  money,  and  in  some  cases  their  trinkets. 

'Mr.  Emmett  suggested  that  a  list  of  those  saved 
should  be  compiled.  Then,  by  ticking  off  the  names, 
he  could  classify  the  inmates  of  the  lighthouse  and 
evolve  some  degree  of  order  in  the  community. 

It  was  found  that  there  were  thirty-seven  officers  and 
men,  including  stewards,  thirty-three  saloon  passen- 
gers, of  whom  nineteen  were  women,  counting  the  two 
little  girls,  and  seven  men  and  one  woman  from  the 
steerage. 

"  It  isn't  usual,  on  a  British  ship,  for  the  crew  to  bulk 
so  large  on  the  list,"  said  Mr.  Emmett  huskily.  "  But 
it  couldn't  be  helped.  The  passengers  had  to  be  bat- 
tened down.  They  couldn't  live  on  deck.  We  never 
gave  in  until  the  last  minute." 

"  I  saw  that,"  said  Brand,  knowing  the  agony  which 
prompted  the  broken  explanation. 
[141] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"An'  not  a  mother's  soul  would  have  escaped  if  it 
wasn't  for  young  Mr.  Pyne,"  went  on  the  sailor. 

"  Is  that  the  name  of  the  youngster  who  climbed  the 
fore-mast  ?  " 

"  That's  him.  It  was  a  stroke  of  genius,  his  catching 
onto  that  way  out.  He  was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber. 
Just  looked  up  when  he  reached  the  deck  an'  saw  the 
lighthouse  so  near.  Then  he  asked  me  for  a  rope. 
Planned  the  whole  thing  in  a  second,  so  to  speak." 

"  He  is  not  one  of  the  ship's  company  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  a  passenger,  nevvy  of  Cyrus  J.  Traill,  the 
Philadelphian  millionaire.  Haven't  you  heard  of 
Traill  ?  Not  much  of  a  newspaper  reader,  eh  ?  There 
was  a  lady  on  board,  a  Mrs.  Vansittart,  who  was  com- 
ing over  to  marry  old  Traill,  so  people  said,  and  the 
weddin'  was  fixed  to  take  place  in  Paris  next  week. 
Young  Pyne  was  actin'  as  escort." 

"  Is  she  lost  ?     What  a  terrible  thing ! " 

The  chief  officer  glanced  down  the  purser's  lists  and 
slapped  his  thigh  with  much  vehemence. 

"No,  by  gosh!  Here  she  is,  marked  O.  K.  Well, 
that  beats  the  band." 

"  So  the  lad  has  discharged  his  trust  to  his  uncle  ?  " 

Mr.  Emmett  was  going  to  say  something,  but  checked 
the  words  on  his  lips. 

"Queer  world,"  he  muttered.     "Queer  world." 

With  that  he  devoted  himself  to  planning  out  the 

watches.     Soon  he  and  the  purser  betook  themselves 

to  the  depths  with  a  roll-call.     As  they  crept  below 

gingerly  —  these  sailor-men  were  not  at  home  on  com- 

[142] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

panion  ladders  which  moved  not  when  the  shock  came 
—  they  met  Enid,  for  the  first  time.  She,  coming  up, 
held  the  swinging  lantern  level  with  her  face.  They 
hung  back  politely. 

"Please  come,"  she  cried  in  her  winsome  way. 
"These  stairs  are  too  narrow  for  courtesy." 

They  stepped  heavily  onward.  She  flitted  away. 
Emmett  raised  his  lantern  between  the  purser's  face 
and  his  own. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  whispered,  awe- 
stricken. 

The  man  of  accounts  smiled  broadly. 

"Pretty  girl!"  he  agreed,  with  crudely  emphatic 
superlatives. 

Emmett  shook  his  head.  He  murmured  to  himself: 
"I  guess  I'm  tired.  I  see  things." 

Enid  handed  an  armful  of  dry  linen  to  the  damp, 
steaming  women  in  the  lower  bedroom.  She  was  hur- 
rying out;  someone  overtook  her  at  the  door.  It  was 
Mrs.  Vansittart. 

"  Miss  Brand,"  she  said,  with  her  all-sufficing  smile, 
"give  me  one  moment." 

They  stood  in  the  dark  and  hollow-sounding  stair- 
way. The  seas  were  lashing  the  column  repeatedly, 
but  the  night's  ordeal  was  nearly  ended.  Even  a  timid 
child  might  know  now  that  the  howling  terror  without 
had  done  its  worst  and  failed.  From  the  cavernous 
depths,  mingling  with  the  rumble  of  the  storm,  came 
the  rhythm  of  a  hymn.  Those  left  in  gloom  by  the 
[143] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

withdrawal   of   Mr.   Emmett's   lantern   were   cheering 
their  despondent  souls. 

Surprised,  even  whilst  Enid  awaited  the  older  woman's 
demand,  the  listeners  heard  the  words: 

"  Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run; 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice." 

The  rough  tones  of  the  men  were  softened  and  har- 
monized by  the  distance.  It  was  a  chant  of  praise,  of 
thanksgiving,  the  offering  of  those  who  had  been 
snatched  from  death  and  from  mortal  fear  more  painful 
than  death. 

The  singing  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  began.  Mr. 
Emmett  and  the  purser  were  warning  the  first  watch. 

The  interruption  did  not  seem  to  help  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart.  She  spoke  awkwardly,  checking  her  thoughts 
as  though  fearful  she  might  be  misunderstood,  or  say 
too  much. 

"  I  am  better,"  she  explained,  "  quite  recovered. 
I  —  gave  up  my  bunk  to  one  who  needed  it." 

"  I  am  sure  we  are  all  doing  our  best  to  help  one  an- 
other," volunteered  Enid. 

"  But  I  am  restless.  The  sight  —  of  your  sister  — 
aroused  vague  memories.  Do  you  mind  —  I  find  it 
hard  to  explain  —  your  name  is  familiar.  I  knew  — 
some  people  —  called  Brand  —  a  Mr.  Stephen  Brand 
—  and  his  wife." 

She  halted,  seemingly  at  a  loss.  Enid,  striving  help- 
[144] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

lessly  to  solve  the  reason  for  this  unexpected  confidence, 
but  quite  wishful  to  make  the  explanation  easier,  found 
herself  interested. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  That  is  quite  possible,  of  course, 
though  you  must  have  been  quite  a  girl.  Mrs.  Brand 
died  many  years  ago." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  flinched  from  the  feeble  rays  of  the 
lantern. 

"  That  is  so  —  I  think  I  heard  of  —  of  Mrs.  Brand's 
death  —  in  London,  I  fancy.  But  —  they  had  only 
one  child." 

Enid  laughed. 

"I  am  a  mere  nobody,"  she  said.  "Dad  adopted 
me.  I  came  here  one  day  in  June,  nineteen  years  ago, 
and  I  must  have  looked  so  forlorn  that  he  took  me  to 
his  heart  —  thank  God!" 

Another  solemn  chord  of  the  hymn  floated  up  to 
them: 

"  Let  all  thy  converse  be  sincere, 
Thy  conscience  as  the  noonday  clear." 

The  rest  of  the  verse  evaded  them.  Probably  a  door 
was  closed. 

Mrs.  Vansittart  seemed  to  be  greatly  perturbed. 
Enid,  intent  on  the  occupation  of  the  moment,  believed 
their  little  chat  was  ended.  To  round  it  off,  so  to  speak, 
she  went  on  quickly : 

"I  imagine  I  am  the  most  mysterious  person  living, 
in  my  early  history,  I  mean.  Mr.  Brand  saw  me  float- 
ing towards  this  lighthouse  in  a  deserted  boat.  I  was 
[145] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

nearly  dead.  The  people  who  had  been  with  me  were 
gone,  either  starved  and  thrown  into  the  sea  or  knocked 
overboard  during  a  collision,  as  the  boat  was  badly 
damaged.  My  linen  was  marked  'E.  T.'  That  is 
the  only  definite  fact  I  can  tell  you.  All  the  rest  is 
guess-work.  Evidently,  nobody  cared  to  claim  me. 
And  here  I  am." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  was  leaning  back  in  the  deep  gloom, 
supporting  herself  against  the  door  of  the  bedroom. 

"  What  a  romance ! "  she  said,  faintly. 

"  A  vague  one,  and  this  is  no  time  to  gossip  about  it. 
Can  I  get  you  anything  ?  " 

Enid  felt  that  she  really  must  not  prolong  their  con- 
versation, and  the  other  woman's  exclamation  threat- 
ened further  talk. 

"No,  thank  you.  You'll  excuse  me,  I  know.  My 
natural  interest  — 

But  Enid,  with  a  parting  smile,  was  halfway  toward 
the  next  landing,  and  Mrs.  Vansittart  was  free  to  re- 
enter  the  crowded  apartment  where  her  fellow-sufferers 
were  wondering  when  they  would  see  daylight  again. 
She  did  not  stir.  The  darkness  was  intense,  the  narrow 
passage  draughty,  and  the  column  thrilled  and  quiv- 
ered in  an  unnerving  manner.  She  heard  the  clang  of 
a  door  above  and  knew  that  Enid  had  gone  into  the 
second  apartment  given  over  to  the  women.  Some- 
where, higher  up,  was  the  glaring  light  of  which  she  had 
a  faint  recollection,  though  she  was  almost  unconscious 
when  unbound  from  the  rope  and  carried  into  the  ser- 
vice-room. 

[146] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

And  at  that  moment,  not  knowing  it,  she  had  been 
near  to  Stephen  Brand,  might  have  spoken  to  him, 
looked  into  his  face.  What  was  he  like,  she  wondered. 
Had  he  aged  greatly  with  the  years  ?  A  lighthouse- 
keeper!  Of  all  professions  in  this  wide  world  how 
came  he  to  adopt  that  ?  And  what  ugly  trick  was  fate 
about  to  play  her  that  she  should  be  cast  ashore  on  this 
desolate  rock  where  he  was  in  charge?  Could  she 
avoid  him  ?  Had  she  been  injudicious  in  betraying 
her  knowledge  of  the  past  ?  And  how  marvelous  was 
the  likeness  between  Constance  and  her  father!  The 
chivalrous,  high-minded  youth  she  had  known  came 
back  to  her  through  the  mists  of  time.  The  calm, 
proud  eyes,  the  firm  mouth,  the  wide  expanse  of  fore- 
head were  his.  From  her  mother  —  the  woman  who 
"died  many  years  ago,"  when  she,  Mrs.  Vansittart, 
was  "  quite  a  girl "  —  the  girl  inherited  the  clear  profile, 
the  wealth  of  dark-brown  hair,  and  a  grace  of  move- 
ment not  often  seen  in  Englishwomen. 

Though  her  teeth  chattered  with  the  cold,  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart could  not  bring  herself  to  leave  the  vault-like 
stairway.  Once  more  the  hymn-singers  cheered  their 
hearts  with  words  of  praise.  Evidently,  there  was 
one  among  them  who  not  only  knew  the  words  but 
could  lead  them  mightily  in  the  tunes  of  many  old 
favorites. 

The  opening  of  a  door  —  caused  by  the  passing  to 

and  fro  of  some  of  the  ship's  officers  —  brought  to  her 

distracted  ears  the  concluding  bars  of  a  verse.     When 

the  voices  swelled  forth  again  she  caught  the  full  refrain : 

[147] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  Raise  thine  eyes  to  heaven 
When  thy  spirits  quail, 
When,  by  tempests  driven, 
Heart  and  courage  fail." 

Such  a  message  might  well  carry  good  cheer  to  all 
who  heard,  yet  Mrs.  Vansittart  listened  as  one  in  a 
trance,  to  whom  the  divinest  promise  was  a  thing  un- 
asked for  and  unrecognized.  After  passing  through 
the  greater  peril  of  the  reef  in  a  state  of  supine  con- 
sciousness, she  was  now  moved  to  extreme  activity  by  a 
more  personal  and  selfish  danger.  There  was  she,  a  hu- 
man atom,  to  be  destroyed  or  saved  at  the  idle  whim  of 
circumstance :  here,  with  life  and  many  things  worth  liv- 
ing for  restored  to  her  safe  keeping,  she  saw  imminent 
risk  of  a  collapse  with  which  the  nebulous  dangers  of  the 
wreck  were  in  no  way  comparable.  It  would  have 
been  well  for  her  could  she  only  realize  the  promise  of 
the  hymn :  "  Our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a 
moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eter- 
nal weight  of  glory." 

Not  so  ran  Mrs.  Vansittart's  jumble  of  thoughts. 
The  plans,  the  schemes,  the  builded  edifice  of  many 
years,  threatened  to  fall  in  ruin  about  her.  In  such 
bitter  mood  there  was  no  consolation.  She  sought 
not  to  find  spiritual  succor,  but  bewailed  the  catastrophe 
which  had  befallen  her. 

It  assuredly  contributed  to  that  "affliction  which  is 

but  for  a  moment,"  that  Constance  should  happen  just 

then  to  run  up  the  stairs  towards  the  hospital.     Each 

flight  was  so  contrived  that  it  curved  across  two-thirds 

[148] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

of  the  superficial  area  allotted  to  the  stairway.  Any- 
one ascending  made  a  complete  turn  to  the  right-about 
to  reach  the  door  of  the  room  on  any  given  landing  and 
the  foot  of  the  ladder  to  the  next. 

Hence,  the  girl  came  unexpectedly  face  to  face  with 
Mrs.  Vansittart.  The  meeting  startled  her.  This 
pale  woman,  so  thinly  clad  in  the  demi-toilette  of 
evening  wear  on  ship-board,  should  not  be  standing 
there. 

"  Is  anything  wrong  ?  "  she  cried,  raising  her  lantern 
just  as  Enid  did  when  she  encountered  the  sailors. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  other,  passing  a  nervous  hand 
over  her  face.  Constance,  with  alert  intelligence,  fan- 
cied she  dreaded  recognition. 

"  Then  why  are  you  standing  here  ?  It  is  so  cold. 
You  will  surely  make  yourself  ill." 

"I  was  wondering  if  I  might  see  Mr.  Brand,"  came 
the  desperate  answer,  the  words  bubbling  forth  with 
unrestrained  vehemence. 

"See  my  father?"  repeated  the  girl.  She  took 
thought  for  an  instant.  The  lighthouse-keeper  would 
not  be  able  to  leave  the  lamp  for  nearly  three  hours. 
When  dawn  came,  she  knew  he  would  have  many 
things  to  attend  to,  signals  to  the  Land's  End,  the  ar- 
rangement of  supplies,  which  he  had  already  men- 
tioned to  her,  and  a  host  of  other  matters.  Four  o'clock 
in  the  morning  was  an  unconventional  hour  for  an  in- 
terview, but  time  itself  was  topsy-turvy  under  the  con- 
ditions prevalent  on  the  Gulf  Rock. 

"  I  will  ask  him,"  she  went  on  harriedly,  with  an  un- 
[149] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

comfortable  feeling  that  Mrs.  Vansittart  resented  her 
judicial  pause. 

"Thank  you." 

To  the  girl's  ears  the  courteous  acknowledgment  con- 
veyed an  odd  note  of  menace.  If  the  eyes  are  the  win- 
dows of  the  soul  surely  the  voice  is  its  subtle  gauge. 
The  more  transparently  simple,  clean-minded  the 
hearer,  the  more  accurate  is  the  resonant  impression. 
Constance  found  herself  vaguely  perplexed  by  two 
jostling  abstractions.  If  they  took  shape  it  was  in 
mute  questioning.  Why  was  Mrs.  Vansittart  so  anx- 
ious to  revive,  or,  it  might  be,  probe,  long-buried 
memories,  and  why  did  her  mobile  smile  seem  to  veil  a 
hostile  intent  ? 

But  the  fresh,  gracious  maidenhood  in  her  cast  aside 
these  unwonted  studies  in  mind-reading. 

"  He  has  so  much  to  do,"  she  explained.  "  Although 
there  are  many  of  us  on  the  rock  tonight  he  has  never  been 
so  utterly  alone.  Won't  you  wait  inside  until  I  return  ?  " 

"Not  unless  I  am  in  the  way,"  pleaded  the  other. 
"  I  was  choking  in  there.  The  air  here,  the  space,  are 
so  grateful." 

So  Constance  passed  her.  Mrs.  Vansittart  noted, 
the  dainty  manner  in  which  she  picked  up  her  skirts  to 
mount  the  stairs.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  tailor- 
made  gown,  striped  silk  underskirt,  well-fitting,  low- 
heeled,  wide-welted  expensive  boots.  Trust  a  woman 
to  see  all  these  things  at  a  glance,  with  even  the  shifting 
glimmer  of  a  storm-proof  lantern  to  aid  the  quick  ap- 
praisement. 

[150] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

As  the  girl  went  out  of  her  sight  a  reminiscence  came 
to  her. 

"  No  wonder  I  was  startled,"  she  communed.  "  That 
sailor's  coat  she  wears  helps  the  resemblance.  Prob- 
ably it  is  her  father's." 

Then  the  loud  silence  of  the  lighthouse  appalled  her. 
The  singing  had  ceased,  or  was  shut  off  by  a  closed 
door.  One  might  be  in  a  tomb  as  surrounded  by  this 
tangible  darkness.  The  tremulous  granite,  so  cold 
and  hard,  yet  alive  in  its  own  grim  strength,  the  mur- 
muring commotion  of  wind  and  waves  swelling  and 
dying  in  ghost-like  echoes,  suggested  a  grave,  a  vault 
close  sealed  from  the  outer  world,  though  pulsating 
with  the  far-away  existence  of  heedless  multitudes. 
Thus,  brooding  in  the  gloom,  a  tortured  soul  without 
form  and  void,  she  awaited  the  return  of  her  messenger. 

Constance,  after  looking  in  at  the  hospital,  went  on 
to  the  service-room.  Her  father  was  not  there.  She 
glanced  up  to  the  trimming-stage,  expecting  to  see  him 
attending  to  the  lamp.  No.  He  had  gone.  Some- 
what bewildered,  for  she  was  almost  certain  he  was  not 
in  any  of  the  lower  apartments,  she  climbed  to  the  little 
door  in  the  glass  frame. 

Ah !  There  he  was,  on  the  landward  side  of  the  gal- 
lery. What  was  the  matter  now?  Surely  there  was 
not  another  vessel  in  distress.  However,  being  relieved 
from  any  dubiety  as  to  his  whereabouts  she  went  back 
to  the  service-room  and  gave  herself  the  luxury  of  a 
moment's  rest.  Oh,  how  tired  she  was!  Not  until 
she  sat  down  did  she  realize  what  it  meant  to  live  as  she 
'  [151] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

had  lived,  and  to  do  all  that  she  had  done,  during  the 
past  four  hours. 

Her  respite  was  of  short  duration.  Brand,  his  oil- 
skins gleaming  with  wet,  came  in. 

"Hello,  sweetheart,  what's  up  now?"  he  cried,  in 
such  cheerful  voice  that  she  knew  all  was  well. 

"  That  was  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  she 
said. 

"  The  Falcon  is  out  there,"  he  replied,  with  a  side  nod 
towards  Mount's  Bay. 

Constance  knew  that  the  Falcon  was  a  sturdy  steam- 
trawler,  a  bull-dog  little  ship,  built  to  face  anything  in 
the  shape  of  gales. 

"They  can  do  nothing,  of  course,"  she  commented. 

"No.  I  stood  between  them  and  the  light  for  a 
second,  and  they  evidently  understood  that  I  was  on 
the  lookout,  as  a  lantern  dipped  seven  times,  which  I 
interpreted  as  meaning  that  they  will  return  at  daybreak. 
Now  they  are  off  to  Penzance  again." 

"  They  turned  safely  then  ?  " 

"  Shipped  a  sea  or  two,  no  doubt.  The  wind  is  drop- 
ping, but  the  sea  is  running  mountains  high." 

He  had  taken  off  his  oilskins.  Constance  suddenly 
felt  a  strong  disinclination  to  rise.  Being  a  strong- 
willed  young  person,  she  sprang  up  instantly. 

"I  came  to  ask  you  if  you  can  see  Mrs.  Vansittart," 
she  said. 

"  Mrs.  Vansittart ! "  he  cried,  with  a  genuine  surprise 
that  thrilled  her  with  a  pleasure  she  assuredly  could  not 
account  for. 

[152] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

*'  Yes.    She  asked  if  she  might  have  a  word  with  you." 

He  threw  his  hands  up  in  comic  despair. 

"Tell  the  good  lady  I  am  up  to  my  eyes  in  work. 
The  oil  is  running  low.  I  must  hie  me  to  the  pump  at 
once.  I  have  my  journal  to  fill.  If  there  is  no  sun  I 
cannot  heliograph  and  I  have  a  host  of  signals  to  look 
up  and  get  ready.  And,  a  word  in  your  ear,  Connie 
dear.  We  will  be  'at  home'  on  the  rock  for  the  next 
forty-eight  hours.  Give  the  lady  my  very  deep  regrets 
and  ask  her  to  allow  me  to  send  for  her  when  I  have  a 
minute  to  spare,  some  hours  hence." 

She  kissed  him. 

"You  dear  old  thing,"  she  cried.  "You  will  tire 
yourself  to  death,  I  am  sure." 

He  caught  her  by  the  chin. 

"  Mark  my  words,"  he  laughed.  "  You  will  feel  this 
night  in  your  bones  longer  than  I.  By  the  way,  no 
matter  who  goes  hungry,  don't  prepare  any  breakfast 
until  I  come  to  you.  I  suppose  the  kitchen  is  your 
headquarters  ?  " 

"Yes,  though  Enid  has  had  far  more  of  Mr.  Pyne's 
company.  She  is  cook,  you  know." 

"  Is  Pyne  there  too  ?  " 

"  He  is  laundry-maid,  drying  clothes." 

"I  think  I  shall  like  him,"  mused  Brand.  "He 
seems  to  be  a  helpful  sort  of  youngster.  That  reminds 
me.  Tell  him  to  report  himself  to  Mr.  Emmett  as  my 
assistant,  —  if  he  cares  for  the  post,  that  is." 

He  did  not  see  the  ready  spirit  of  mischief  that  danced 
[153] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

in  her  eyes.     She  pictured  Mr.  Pyne  "fixing  things" 
with  Mr.  Emmett  "mighty  quick." 

When  she  reached  the  first  bedroom  floor  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart  had  gone. 

"I  thought  it  would  be  strange  if  she  stood  long  in 
this  draught,"  mused  Constance.  She  opened  the  door. 
The  lady  she  sought  was  leaning  disconsolate  against 
a  wall. 

"  My  father  —  "  she  began. 

"I  fear  I  was  thoughtless,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart.  "He  must  be  greatly  occupied.  Of  course,  I 
can  see  him  in  the  morning  before  the  vessel  comes. 
They  will  send  a  ship  soon  to  take  us  off  ?  " 

"At  the  earliest  possible  moment,"  was  the  glad 
answer.  "Indeed,  dad  has  just  been  signalling  to  a 
tug  which  will  return  at  daybreak." 

There  was  a  joyous  chorus  from  the  other  inmates. 
Constance  had  not  the  requisite  hardihood  to  tell  them 
how  they  misconstrued  her  words. 

As  she  quitted  them  she  admitted  to  herself  that  Mrs. 
Vansittart,  though  disturbing  in  some  of  her  moods, 
was  really  very  considerate.  It  never  occurred  to  her 
that  her  new  acquaintance  might  have  suddenly  dis- 
covered the  exceeding  wisdom  of  a  proverb  concerning 
second  thoughts. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Vansittart  now  bitterly  regretted  the 
mpulse  which  led  her  to  betray  any  knowledge  of 
Stephen  Brand  or  his  daughter.     Of  all  the  follies  of  a 
wayward  life,  that  was  immeasurably  the  greatest,  in 
Mrs.  Vansittart's  critical  scale. 
[154] 


Mrs.  Vansittart 

But  what  would  you?  It  is  not  often  given  to  a 
woman  of  nerves,  a  woman  of  volatile  nature,  a  shallow 
worldling,  yet  versed  in  the  deepest  wiles  of  intrigue, 
to  be  shipwrecked,  to  be  plucked  from  a  living  hell,  to 
be  swung  through  a  hurricane  to  the  secure  insecurity 
of  a  dark  and  hollow  pillar  standing  on  a  Calvary  of 
storm-tossed  waves,  and  then,  whilst  her  senses  swam 
in  utmost  bewilderment,  to  be  confronted  with  a  living 
ghost. 

Yet  that  was  precisely  what  had  happened  to  her. 

Fate  is  grievous  at  times.  This  haven  of  refuge  was 
a  place  of  torture.  Mrs.  Vansittart  broke  down  and 
wept  in  her  distress. 


[155] 


CHAPTER  X 
PYNE'S  PROGRESS 

A  PRIMROSE  light  in  the  east  heralded  a  chilly  dawn. 
The  little  world  of  the  Gulf  Rock  bestirred  itself  in  its 
damp  misery  at  the  news.  The  fresh  watch,  delighted 
by  the  prospect  of  activity,  clattered  up  and  down  the 
iron  stairs,  opened  all  available  windows,  undamped 
the  door  when  Brand  gave  the  order,  and  busied  itself 
exceedingly  with  the  desultory  jobs  which  offered  to  so 
many  willing  hands. 

It  was  now,  by  the  nautical  almanac,  dead  low  water 
on  the  reef,  but  the  strong  southwesterly  wind,  hurling 
a  heavy  sea  completely  over  the  rocks,  showed  that  the 
standards  of  war  and  peace  differ  as  greatly  in  the 
matter  of  tides  as  in  most  other  respects. 

As  the  light  increased  it  lost  its  first  warm  tinge. 
Steel  gray  were  sky  and  water,  sombre  the  iron-bound 
land,  whilst  the  whereabouts  of  the  sun  became  a 
scientific  abstraction.  Therefore,  the  heliograph  was 
useless,  and  Brand,  helped  by  some  of  the  sailors,  com- 
menced to  flaunt  his  flag-signals  to  the  watching  tele- 
scopes on  the  far-off  promontory  of  the  Land's  End. 
The  Falcon,  strong-hearted  trawler,  was  plunging 
[156] 


Pyne's  Progress 

towards  the  rock  when  the  first  line  of  gay  bunting 
swung  clear  into  the  breeze.  And  what  a  message  it 
was  —  in  its  jerky  phrases  —  its  profound  uncertainties 
—  for  communication  by  flag  code  is  slow  work,  and 
Brand  left  much  to  an  easier  system  of  talk  with  the 
approaching  steamer. 

"  Chinook  —  New  York  to  Southampton  —  struck 
reef  during  hurricane  —  propeller  shaft  broken  —  78 
survivors  in  lighthouse  —  captain,  201  passengers,  offi- 
cers and  crew  —  lost  with  ship." 

The  awful  significance  of  the  words  sank  into  the 
hearts  of  the  signallers.  For  the  first  time,  the  dis- 
aster from  which,  by  God's  Providence,  they  had 
emerged  safely  became  crystallized  into  set  speech. 
Seventy-eight  living  out  of  two  hundred  and  eighty  who 
might  have  lived !  This  was  the  curt  intelligence  which 
leaped  the  waves  to  fly  over  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  land,  which  sped  back  to  the  States  to  replace  the 
expected  news  of  a  safe  voyage,  which  thrilled  the 
civilized  world  as  it  had  not  been  thrilled  for  many  a 
day. 

Not  a  soul  in  the  lighthouse  gave  thought  to  this  side 
of  the  affair.  All  were  anxious  to  reassure  their  loved 
ones,  but,  in  their  present  moribund  condition,  they 
could  not  realize  the  electric  effect  of  the  incident  on 
the  wider  world  which  read  and  had  hearts  to  feel. 

Even  whilst  Stephen  Brand  was  signalling  to  the 
Falcon,  with  little  white  flags  quickly  extemporized  as 
soon  as  she  neared  the  Trinity  buoy,  newspaper  corre- 
[157] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

spondents  ashore  were  busy  at  the  telegraph-office,  and 
their  associates  on  the  trawler  were  eagerly  transcribing 
the  lighthouse-keeper's  words  wherewith  to  feed  to 
fever  heat  the  sensation  which  the  night  had  provided 
for  the  day. 

Brand,  foreseeing  the  importance  of  clearness  and 
brevity,  had  already  written  out  a  full  draft  of  his  de- 
tailed message. 

Faithful  to  his  promise,  Stapleton  was  acting  as  sig- 
naller-in-chief  on  board  the  Falcon,  so  Brand  might 
manipulate  his  flags  as  quickly  as  lay  in  his  power,  with 
chief  officer  Emmett  reading  the  words  at  his  elbow: 
there  was  no  fear  that  any  mistake  would  be  made  by 
the  receiver. 

The  story,  if  condensed,  was  complete.  Beginning 
with  an  explanation  of  the  liner's  disablement,  it  dealt 
with  her  desperate  but  unavailing  struggle  to  weather 
the  reef,  described  Pyne's  gallant  and  successful  effort 
to  get  in  touch  with  the  lighthouse,  the  rescue  of  a 
fourth  of  those  on  board,  the  names  of  the  survivors, 
and,  finally,  their  predicament  in  the  matter  of  food 
and  water. 

All  this  took  long  to  tell. 

Within  the  lantern,  Mr.  Charles  A.  Pyne,  appointed 
supernumerary  assistant-keeper,  was  burnishing  brass- 
work  as  per  instructions  received.  He  little  knew  the 
use  which  was  being  made  of  his  name  by  the  tiny  bits 
of  linen  tossing  about  on  the  exterior  gallery.  In  such 
wise,  helped  by  a  compositor  and  dignified  by  head- 
[158] 


Pyne's  Progress 

lines,  does  a  man  become  a  hero  in  these  days  of 
knighthood  conferred  by  the  Press. 

Constance  was  scrutinizing  the  Falcon  from  the 
trimming-stage.  Hearing  Enid's  cheery  "  Good-morn- 
ing" to  Pyne  when  that  young  lady  raced  upwards 
from  the  kitchen  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  reported 
vessel,  she  dropped  her  glasses  for  a  moment. 

"Jack  is  on  board,"  she  announced.  "Of  course  he 
would  be  there.  And  there  is  such  a  lot  of  other  men 
—  half  Penzance,  I  think." 

Enid  joined  her;  Pyne,  too,  thought  he  could  polish 
a  burner  up  there  as  well  as  on  the  floor  of  the  service- 
room. 

Stanhope's  stalwart  figure,  clad  in  oilskins,  was 
clearly  defined  as  he  stood  alone  on  the  port  side  of  the 
Falcon  s  small  bridge,  reading  off  the  signals  and  send- 
ing back  spasmodic  twitterings  of  the  flags  which  he. 
also,  had  procured,  to  indicate  that  each  word  was  un- 
derstood. 

"Who  is  the  skipper  of  the  tug?"  inquired  Pyne 
quietly. 

Both  girls  laughed. 

"You  mean  Jack,"  cried  Enid.  "He  is  not  the 
captain.  He  is  an  officer  of  the  Royal  Navy,  our 
greatest  friend." 

"  Jack  is  his  front  name,  I  suppose,"  went  on  Pyne, 
breathing  on  the  copper  disc  in  his  hands  to  test  its 
clearness. 

"  We  will  introduce  you,  even  at  this  distance,"  said 
Constance  airily.  "  Mr.  Pyne  —  this  is  Lieutenant 
[159] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

John  Percival  Stanhope,  only  son  of  the  late  Sir  Charles 
and  Lady  Margaret  Stanhope,  of  Tregarthen  Lodge,Pen- 
zance,  one  of  the  best  and  dearest  fellows  who  ever  lived." 

"  It  must  be  nice  to  be  a  friend  of  yours,  Miss  Brand, 
if  you  always  talk  about  the  favored  person  in  that 
way,"  said  Pyne,  rubbing  industriously. 

Enid,  to  whom  the  mere  sight  of  the  steamer  had 
restored  all  her  vitality,  giggled  joyously. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Pyne,  we  all  love  Jack,  as  the  song 
says.  It  was  a  mere  accident  that  he  did  not  accom- 
pany us  to  the  rock  yesterday.  Connie  would  not  let 
him  come." 

"  Ah,"  said  Pyne. 

"I  forbade  him,"  explained  Constance,  "because  he 
has  only  three  days'  leave  from  his  ship,  and  I  thought 
he  should  give  the  first  afternoon  to  his  mother  instead 
of  playing  poodle  for  Enid." 

"  How  dare  you  call  Jack  a  poodle  ?  "  was  the  indig- 
nant exclamation." 

"Allow  me,"  drawled  Pyne.  "I'm  very  glad  your 
sister  classified  him." 

Constance  suddenly  felt  her  neck  and  face  aflame. 
Pyne  was  standing  on  her  left,  Enid  on  her  right.  The 
quiet  jubilation  of  Pyne's  voice  was  so  unmistakable 
that  Enid,  for  one  instant,  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the 
distant  ship.  A  retort  was  quick  on  her  lips,  until  she 
bethought  her  that  the  American's  statement  might 
have  two  meanings. 

Being  tactful  withal,  she  chose  her  words  whilst  she 
bubbled  forth: 

[160] 


Pynes  Progress 

"  He  promised  to  take  us  for  a  drive  today.  That  is 
the  dot  and  dash  alphabet  father  and  he  are  using.  If 
dad  requires  all  the  dots  I'm  sure  Jack  is  monopolizing 
the  dashes.  He  must  be  furious  about  this  gale." 

Constance,  who  wanted  to  pinch  Enid  severely,  had 
reverted  to  her  normal  healthy  hue  by  this  time.  She 
dropped  her  glasses. 

"  We  are  shamefully  wasting  precious  minutes  here," 
she  said.  "  Enid,  you  and  I  ought  to  be  in  the  kitchen." 

Then  she  glanced  with  cold  self-possession  at  Pyne, 
who  was  whistling  softly  between  his  teeth  as  he  plied 
the  duster. 

"  As  for  you,"  she  said,  "  I  never  saw  anyone  work  so 
hard  with  less  need." 

He  critically  examined  the  shining  burner. 

"We  Americans  are  taught  to  be  strenuous,"  he 
said  smilingly.  "  That  is  the  only  way  you  can  cut  in 
ahead  of  the  other  fellow  nowadays,  Miss  Brand." 

She  almost  resigned  the  contest.  That  unhappy  ex- 
planation had  delivered  her  bound  into  his  hands.  Yet 
she  strove  desperately  to  keep  up  the  pretence  that 
their  spoken  words  had  no  ulterior  significance. 

"  Such  energy  must  be  very  wearing,"  she  said. 

"It  is  —  for  the  other  man." 

"  But  in  your  case  it  is  unnecessary.  My  father  be- 
lieves we  will  be  here  at  least  forty-eight  hours."  Then 
she  became  conscious  that  again  she  had  not  said 
exactly  what  she  meant  to  say.  "  So  you,  at  any  rate, 
need  not  wear  your  fingers  to  the  bone,"  she  added 
hurriedly. 

[161] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Guess  it  must  be  a  national  vice,"  he  said  with 
irritating  complacency.  "  Just  now  I  feel  I  have  a  reg- 
ular hustle  on." 

"Your  example  equals  your  precepts.  Enid,  tear 
yourself  from  the  attractive  spectacle.  There  are 
eighty -one  ravenous  people  to  be  fed." 

"Sorry  you  haven't  hit  upon  the  real  reason  of  my 
abounding  industry,"  said  Pyne,  who  skipped  down 
the  ladder  first  to  give  the  girls  a  helping  hand  as  they 
descended. 

"Please  tell  us.  It  may  be  inspiring,"  said  Con- 
stance. 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  the  boss  if  I  can't  take  a  turn  as 
scullery-maid  when  I'm  through  here." 

"Then  I  veto  the  idea  now,"  she  answered.  "Enid 
and  I  have  had  a  most  comfortable  nap,  and  I  am  cer- 
tain you  have  not  closed  your  eyes  all  night.  I  will 
make  it  my  personal  business  to  see  that  both  my 
father  and  you  lie  down  for  a  couple  of  hours  imme- 
diately after  breakfast." 

"Or  else  there  will  be  a  mutiny  in  the  kitchen," 
chimed  in  Enid. 

"  Connie,"  she  whispered,  when  they  were  safely  out 
of  hearing  from  the  service-room,  "  I  never  saw  a  worse 
case.  Talk  about  the  young  men  suddenly  smitten  you 
read  of  in  novels — " 

Her  sister  whirled  round. 

"How  can  you  be  so  silly?"  she  blazed  forth. 

"  Why  did  you  libel  Jack  so  readily  ?  "  tittered  Enid. 

The  other,  utterly  routed,  went  on  in  dignified  silence. 
[162] 


Pyne*s  Progress 

She  did  not  speak  again  until  they  surveyed  the  store 
apportioned  for  the  coming  feast. 

"  Eighty-one ! "  she  murmured.  "  What  a  monstrous 
deal  of  people  for  a  half -penny  worth  of  bread!" 

"  What  is  the  use  of  repining  ? "  sang  Enid,  with  a 
fortissimo  accent  on  the  penultimate  syllable.  "For 
where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way.  Tomorrow  the  sun 
will  be  shining,  although  it  is  cloudy  today." 

But  Constance  was  not  to  be  drawn  a  second  time. 
Her  clear  brain  was  troubled  by  a  formless  shadow.  It 
banished  from  her  mind  all  thought  of  a  harmless  flirta- 
tion with  the  good-looking  youngster  who  had  brought 
a  blush  of  momentary  embarrassment  to  her  fair  face. 

How  dreadful  it  would  be  to  meet  hunger  with  re- 
fusals—  perhaps  there  were  worse  things  in  the  world 
than  the  midnight  ordeal  of  an  angry  sea. 

Indeed,  when  Pyne  did  join  them  in  accord  with  his 
intention,  he  soon  perceived  the  extent  of  the  new  dan- 
ger. The  stress  of  the  night  had  only  enhanced  the 
need  of  an  ample  supply  of  food.  Everybody  —  even 
the  inmates  of  the  hospital  —  was  outrageously  hungry, 
and  the  common  allotment  was  half  a  cup  of  tea  and 
half  a  ship's  biscuit. 

For  the  midday  meal  there  would  be  two  ounces  of 
meat  or  bacon,  one  potato,  and  another  half  biscuit 
with  about  a  wine-glassful  of  water.  For  supper  the 
allowance  was  half  a  cup  of  cocoa  and  two  ounces  of 
bread,  which  must  be  baked  during  the  day.  Not 
quite  starvation,  this  menu,  but  far  from  satisfying  to 
strong  men  and  worn-out  women. 
[163] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

The  Falcon,  knowing  the  uselessness  of  attempting 
to  creep  nearer  to  the  Gulf  Rock,  had  gone  off  with  her 
budget  to  startle  two  continents.  Stanhope's  last  mes- 
sage was  one  of  assurance.  He  would  do  all  that  lay 
in  man's  power.  The  lighthouse  soon  quieted  down 
to  a  state  of  passive  reaction.  Pyne,  refusing  to  be 
served  earlier,  carried  his  own  and  Brand's  scanty  meal 
on  a  tray  to  the  service-room. 

The  unwearied  lighthouse-keeper  was  on  the  balcony, 
answering  a  kindly  signal  from  the  Land's  End,  where 
the  coast-guards  were  not  yet  in  possession  of  the  news 
from  Penzance. 

He  placed  the  tray  on  the  writing-desk  and  con- 
templated its  contents  ruefully. 

"I  guess  that  banquet  won't  spoil  for  keeping,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "I'll  just  lay  round  and  look  at  it 
until  the  boss  quits  making  speeches  by  the  yard." 

A  couple  of  minutes  passed.  Brand  was  hoisting 
the  last  line  of  flags,  when  the  American  heard  faltering 
footsteps  on  the  stairs. 

"  Don't  follow  so  close,  Mamie,"  said  a  child's  voice. 
"  My  arm  hurts  just  'nuff  for  anything  when  I  move." 

A  towzled  head  of  golden  hair  emerged  into  the  light. 
It  was  one  of  the  two  little  girls,  whom  Pyne  had  not 
seen  since  they  were  swung  aloft  from  the  sloping  deck 
of  the  Chinook. 

Their  astonishment  was  mutual.  The  child,  aged 
about  eight,  recognized  in  him  a  playmate  of  the 
fine  days  on  board  ship.  She  turned  with  confident 
cry. 

[164] 


Pyne's  Progress 

"  I  told  you  so,  Mamie.  It  was  up.  You  said  down. 
Here's  the  big  glass  house  —  and  Mr.  Pyne." 

She  quickened  her  speed,  though  her  left  arm  was  in 
a  sling.  Pyne,  dreading  lest  she  should  fall,  hastened  to 
help  her. 

"I'se  all  right,  Mr.  Pyne,"  she  announced  with  an 
air  of  great  dignity.  "I  make  one  step  at  a  time. 
Then  I  ketch  the  rail.  See?" 

"  You've  got  it  down  to  a  fine  point,  Elsie,"  he  said. 
"  But  what  in  the  world  are  those  women-folk  thinking 
of  to  let  you  and  Mamie  run  loose  about  the  place." 

Elsie  did  not  answer  until  Mamie  stood  by  her  side. 
Judged  by  appearances,  Mamie  was  a  year  younger. 
Apart  from  the  nasty  bruise  on  Elsie's  left  arm  and 
shoulder,  the  children  had  escaped  from  the  horrors  of 
the  wreck  almost  unscathed  in  body  and  certainly  un- 
troubled in  mind. 

"  Mamie  came  to  my  room  for  breakfast,"  explained 
Elsie  at  last.  "  We'se  awful  hungry,  an'  when  we  axed 
for  'nother  bixit  Mrs.  Taylor  she  began  to  cry.  An' 
when  I  said  we'd  go  an'  find  mamma  she  cried  some 
more." 

"  Yes.  We'se  awful  hungry,"  agreed  Mamie.  "  An' 
please  where's  mamma?" 

Pyne  needed  no  further  explanation.  The  little  ones 
had  lost  their  mother;  her  disfigured  body,  broken  out 
of  all  recognition,  was  tossing  about  somewhere  in  the 
under-currents  of  the  Channel.  None  of  the  women 
dared  to  tell  the  children  the  truth,  and  it  was  a  heart- 
rending task  to  deny  them  food. 
[165] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

So,  they  were  permitted  to  leave  their  refuge,  with 
the  kindly  belief  that  they  would  come  to  no  harm  and 
perchance  obtain  a  further  supply  from  one  of  those 
sweet-faced  girls  who  explained  so  gently  that  the 
rations  must  run  short  for  the  common  good. 

Pyne  glanced  up  at  the  lantern.  Outside  he  could 
see  Brand  hauling  down  the  signal.  He  sprang  to  the 
tray  and  secured  his  half  biscuit  and  tea  cup. 

"  Come  along,  Elsie,"  he  said,  crooking  his  left  arm 
for  her.  "Follow  close,  Mamie.  Mind  you  don't 
fall." 

"Your  mamma  is  asleep,"  he  assured  them  in  a 
whisper  on  the  next  landing.  "  She  just  can't  be  woke 
up  for  quite  a  long  time." 

Then  he  navigated  them  to  the  door  of  the  second 
bedroom,  where  Mrs.  Taylor  was.  He  broke  the  hard 
biscuit  in  two  pieces  and  gave  one  to  each  child. 

"  Here,  Mamie,  you  carry  the  cup,  and  go  shares  in 
the  tea." 

"I  don't  like  tea,"  protested  Mamie.  "If  I  can't 
have  coffee  I  want  some  milk." 

"  Well,  now,  you  wait  a  little  bit,  and  you'll  be  tickled 
to  death  to  see  what  I'll  bring  you.  But  drink  the  tea. 
It's  good  an'  hot.  Skip  inside,  both  of  you." 

He  held  the  door  partly  open  and  they  vanished. 
He  heard  Mrs.  Taylor  say: 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  those  two  little  dears  would  do 
their  own  business  best." 

He  regained  the  service-room  to  find  Brand  steeping 
the  remains  of  his  biscuit  in  an  almost  empty  cup.  The 
[166] 


Pyne's  Progress 

lighthouse-keeper  greeted  his  young  friend  with  a  smile. 

"I  suppose  that  you,  like  the  rest  of  us,  never  had 
such  an  appetite  in  all  your  days  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I'm  pretty  well  fixed,"  said  Pyne,  with  respon- 
sive grin. 

"Then  you  are  fortunate.  There  is  usually  a 
wretched  little  fiend  lurking  in  a  man's  inner  conscious- 
ness which  prompts  him  to  desire  the  unattainable. 
Now,  I  am  a  poor  eater  as  a  rule,  yet  this  morning  I 
feel  I  could  tackle  the  toughest  steak  ever  cut  off  a 
superannuated  cow." 

"I  don't  deny,"  admitted  Pyne,  "that  the  idea  of  a 
steak  sounds  good.  That  is,  you  know,"  he  went 
on  languidly,  "  it  might  sort  of  appeal  to  me  about  one 
o'clock." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  could  do  with  one  now, 
especially  after  the  hard  night  we  have  gone  through. 
Perhaps  you  are  a  believer  in  the  French  system,  and 
prefer  a  light  breakfast." 

Brand  finished  the  last  morsel  of  biscuit  and  drank 
the  cup  dry. 

"  It's  a  first-rate  proposition  —  when  you  are  accus- 
tomed to  it,"  said  Pyne.  "But  talking  about  eating 
when  there's  little  to  eat  is  a  poor  business,  anyway. 
Don't  you  find  that?" 

"I  do  indeed." 

Brand  rose  and  tapped  the  barometer,  adjusting  the 
sliding  scale  to  read  the  tenths. 

"  Slightly  better,"  he  announced.     "  If  only  the  wind 
would  go  down,  or  even  change  to  the  norrard!" 
[167] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  What   good    would    a   change  of    wind    do  ? "   in- 
quired Pyne,  greatly  relieved  himself  by  the  change  of 
topic. 

"  It  would  beat  down  the  sea  to  some  extent  and  then 
they  might  be  able  to  drift  a  buoy,  with  a  rope  attached, 
close  enough  to  the  rock  at  low  tide  to  enable  us  to 
reach  it  with  a  cast  of  a  grappling  iron." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  we  could  be  ferried  to  the  steamer 
by  that  means?" 

"That  is  absolutely  out  of  the  question  until  the 
weather  moderates  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  I  dare 
hope  at  present.  But,  once  we  had  the  line,  we  could 
rig  up  a  running  tackle  and  obtain  some  stores." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  all  that?"  said  the  younger  man, 
after  a  pause. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  The  knowledge  that  all 
true  men  have  of  their  kind  leaped  from  eye  to  eye. 

"Quite  that  bad,"  answered  Brand. 

Pyne  moistened  his  lips.  He  produced  a  case  con- 
taining two  cigars.  He  held  it  out. 

"Let  us  go  shares  in  consolation,"  he  said. 

Brand  accepted  the  gift,  and  affected  a  livelier  mood. 

"  By  lucky  chance  I  have  an  ample  supply  of  tobacco. 
It  will  keep  the  men  quiet,"  he  said.  "By  the  way," 
and  he  lifted  a  quick  glance  at  Pyne,  "do  you  know 
anything  about  chemistry?" 

"Well  —  er  —  I  went  through  a  course  at  Yale." 

"Can  colza  oil  be  converted  into  a  food." 

"It  contains  certain  fats,"  admitted  Pyne,  taking 
dubious  stock  of  the  question. 
[168] 


Pyne's  Progress 

"  But  the  process  of  conversion,  the  chemical  reaction, 
that  is  the  difficulty." 

"  Bi-sulphide  of  carbon  is  a  solvent,  and  the  fatty  acids 
of  most  vegetable  oils  can  be  isolated  by  treatment 
with  steam  super-heated  to  about  600°  Fahrenheit." 

Brand  threw  out  his  hands  with  a  little  gesture  of 
helplessness;  just  then  Constance  appeared. 

"  Dad,"  she  cried,  "  did  not  Mr.  Pyne  tell  you  of  my 
threat  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  one.  I  am  not  living  in  terror  of  you,  to 
my  knowledge." 

"You  must  please  go  to  sleep,  both  of  you,  at  least 
until  ten  or  eleven  o'clock.  Mr.  Emmett  is  sending  a 
man  to  keep  watch  here.  He  will  not  disturb  you.  He 
is  bringing  some  rugs  and  pillows  which  you  can  arrange 
on  the  floor.  I  have  collected  them  for  your  special 
benefit." 

"At  this  hour!     Impossible,  Connie." 

"But  it  is  not  impossible,  and  this  is  the  best  hour 
available.  You  know  quite  well  that  the  Falcon  will 
return  at  high  water.  And  you  must  rest,  you  know." 

She  bustled  about,  with  the  busy  air  of  a  house-wife 
who  understood  the  whole  art  of  looking  after  her 
family.  But  something  puzzled  her. 

"  Mr.  Pyne,"  she  inquired,  "  where  is  your  cup  ?  " 

"I  —  er  —  took  it  down,"  he  explained. 

For  some  reason,  Constance  felt  instantly  that  she 
had  turned  the  tables  on  him  since  their  last  rencontre. 
She  did  not  know  why.     He  looked  confused,  for  one 
thing:  he  was  not  so  glib  in  speech,  for  another. 
[169] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Down  where?"  she  demanded.  "Not  to  the  kit- 
chen. I  have  been  there  since  you  brought  up  your 
breakfast  and  dad's  on  the  same  tray." 

"I  breakfasted  alone,"  remarked  Brand  calmly. 
"Mr.  Pyne  had  feasted  earlier." 

"But  he  had  not,"  persisted  Constance.  "I  wanted 
him  to  —  " 

She  stopped.  This  impudent  American  had  ac- 
tually dared  to  wink  at  her,  a  confidential,  appealing 
wink  which  said  plainly :  "  Please  don't  trouble  about 
me." 

"You  gave  your  tea  and  biscuit  to  somebody,"  she 
cried  suddenly.  "Now,  who  was  it?  Confess!" 

"  Well,"  he  said  weakly,  "  I  did  not  feel  —  er  —  par- 
ticularly hungry,  so,  when  I  met  those  two  little  girls 
foolin'  round  for  an  extra  supply,  I  —  er  —  thought  no- 
body would  mind  if  —  er  — 

"Father!"  said  Constance.  "He  has  not  had  a 
mouthful." 

"  Then  take  him  downstairs  and  give  him  one.  You 
must  have  found  my  conversation  interesting,  Mr.  Pyne, 
whilst  I  was  eating.  But,  before  you  go,  let  me  add  a 
word  in  season.  There  must  be  no  further  discrimina- 
tion between  persons.  Stand  or  fall,  each  must  abide 
by  the  common  rule." 

Pyne,  with  the  guilty  feeling  of  a  detected  villian,  ex- 
plained to  Constance  how  the  cup  might  be  rescued. 

"I  shall  keep  a  close  eye  on  you  in  future,"  she  an- 
nounced as  they  went  below. 

"Do,"  he  said.     "That  is  all  I  ask  for." 
[170] 


Pyne's  Progress 

"I  am  a  very  strict  person,"  she  went  on.  "Dad 
always  encouraged  us  in  the  sailor's  idea  of  implicit 
obedience." 

"  Kick  me.     It  will  make  me  feel  good,"  he  answered. 

Entering  the  second  bed-room,  where  Elsie  and  Ma- 
mie were  seated  contentedly  on  the  floor,  she  stooped 
and  kissed  them.  And  not  a  word  did  she  say  to  Enid 
as  to  the  reason  why  Mr.  Pyne  should  be  served  with  a 
second  breakfast.  She  knew  that  any  parade  of  his 
unselfishness  would  hurt  him,  and  he,  on  his  part,  gave 
her  unspoken  thanks  for  her  thought. 

Conversation  without  words  is  an  art  understood 
only  by  master-minds  and  lovers,  so  these  two  were 
either  exceptionally  clever  persons  or  developing  traits 
of  a  more  common  genus  —  perhaps  both. 


[171] 


CHAPTER  XI 
MRS.  VANSITTART'S  FEAR. 

THE  tribulations  which  clustered,  in  bee-like  swarm, 
in  and  around  the  Gulf  Rock  Lighthouse  during  those 
weary  hours  were  many  and  various.  Damp  clothing, 
insufficiency  of  food,  interior  temperatures  ranging  from 
the  chill  draught  of  the  entrance  passage  and  stair-ways 
to  the  partial  suffocation  of  rooms  with  windows  closed 
owing  to  the  incursions  of  the  rising  tide  —  this  un- 
pleasing  aggregate  of  physical  misery  was  seriously 
augmented  by  an  ever-increasing  list  of  sick  people,  an 
almost  total  absence  of  any  medical  comforts,  and  a 
growing  knowledge,  on  the  part  of  those  not  too  de- 
spondent to  think,  that  their  ultimate  relief  might  be 
deferred  for  days  rather  than  hours. 

No  mere  man  can  understand,  and  a  woman  of  ordi- 
nary experience  can  but  dimly  imagine,  the  difficulty 
and  arduousness  of  the  task  undertaken  by  Constance 
and  Enid. 

To  cook  and  supply  food  for  eighty-one  persons  with 
utensils  intended  for  the  use  of  three,  to  give  each  sepa- 
rate individual  an  utterly  inadequate  portion,  so  skil- 
fully distributed  that  none  should  have  cause  to  grumble 
[172] 


Mrs.  Vansittart's  Fear 

at  his  or  her  neighbor's  better  fortune  —  here  were  culi- 
nary problems  at  once  complex  and  exhaustive. 

By  adopting  fantastic  devices,  bringing  into  service 
empty  jam-pots  and  sardine-tins,  they  found  it  was 
possible  to  feed  twenty  at  a  time.  This  meant  the 
preparation  of  four  distinct  meals,  each  requiring  an 
hour's  work.  Long  before  the  last  batch,  which  in- 
cluded themselves,  was  lamenting  the  absurd  discrep- 
ancy between  appetite  and  antidote  in  the  shape  of 
anything  to  eat,  the  first  was  ravenous  again. 

The  women  complained  the  least.  In  the  occupants 
of  the  two  bedrooms  the  girls  encountered  a  passive 
fortitude  which  was  admirable.  It  was  an  extraordi- 
nary scene  which  met  their  eyes  when  they  entered 
either  of  these  stuffy  apartments.  Many  of  the  rescued 
ladies  had  not  given  a  thought  to  changing  the  demi- 
toilette  of  evening  wear  on  board  ship  for  more  service- 
able clothing  when  the  hurricane  overtook  the  vessel. 
They  all,  it  is  true,  possessed  cloaks  or  wraps  of  some 
sort,  but  these  garments  were  still  sodden  with  salt 
water  and  therefore  unwearable,  even  if  the  oppressive 
warmth  in  each  room  rendered  such  a  thing  possible. 
Their  elegant  costumes  of  muslin,  cotton,  silk  or  satin, 
were  utterly  ruined.  Lucky  were  the  few  whose  blouses 
or  bodices  had  not  been  rent  into  tatters. 

Some  of  the  worst  sufferers  in  this  respect  were  now 
the  best  provided.  Blankets  and  sheets  had  been  ruth- 
lessly torn  up  and  roughly  stitched  into  articles  of 
clothing.  Mrs.  Vansittart,  for  instance,  who  first  sug- 
gested this  via  media,  wore  an  exquisite  Paris  gown  and 
'[173] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

a  loose  dressing- jacket  arrangement  of  yellow  blanket, 
the  component  parts  of  which  she  persuaded  two  other 
women  to  sew  together  on  the  model  provided  by  her 
own  elegant  figure. 

A  few  quick-witted  ones  who  followed  her  example 
exhausted  the  available  stock,  and  pillow-cases  and 
rugs  would  have  undergone  metamorphosis  in  the  same 
way  had  not  Constance  come  to  the  rescue  by  impound- 
ing them,  declaring  that  they  must  be  reserved  for  the 
use  of  those  sufferers  who  needed  warmth  and  rest. 

The  men  passed  their  time  in  smoking,  singing,  yarn- 
ing and  speculating  on  the  chance  of  the  weather  clear- 
ing. Ultimately,  when  the  banging  of  the  waves  again 
made  the  column  feel  unsafe,  a  small  section  began  to 
plan  petty  attempts  to  pilfer  the  provisions.  It  is  the 
queer  mixture  of  philosopher  and  beast  in  the  average 
human  being  that  makes  it  possible  for  the  same  man, 
in  one  mood,  to  risk  his  life  quite  voluntarily  to  save 
others,  and  in  another,  to  organize  selfish  theft. 

After  an  ingenious  seaman  had  been  detected  in  the 
attempt  to  pick  the  store-room  lock,  and  when  a  tray  of 
cold  ham  was  deliberately  upset  whilst  a  football  scrim- 
mage took  place  for  the  pieces,  Mr.  Emmett  stopped 
these  ebullitions  by  arming  the  watch  with  assorted 
weapons  from  the  work-shop  and  issuing  stern  orders 
as  to  their  use  in  case  of  need. 

Here,  again,  the  warring  elements  which  form  the 
human  clay  were  admirably  displayed.  On  duty,  un- 
der the  bonds  of  discipline,  the  coarse-grained  fore- 
mast hand  who  had  gobbled  up  a  surreptitious  lump  of 
[174] 


Mrs.  Vansittart's  Fear 

fat  pig  during  the  first  successful  scuffle  would  brain  the 
daring  rascal  who  tried  to  better  his  condition  by  a 
similar  trick  a  second  time.  Discipline,  sometimes, 
converts  a  skulker  into  a  hero. 

When  the  state  of  the  tide  permitted,  storm-shutters 
were  opened  and  a  free  draught  of  air  allowed  to  enter 
through  the  door.  Then  all  hands  eyed  the  sea  with 
anxiety.  The  wind  was  strong  and  piercing,  and  the 
reef  maintained  its  ceaseless  roaring.  Wherever  a  win- 
dow opened  towards  the  land  there  was  a  small  crowd 
waiting  to  peep  through  it.  At  last,  the  sense  of  order- 
liness gradually  permeating  the  inmates  of  the  light- 
house actually  resulted  in  the  formation  of  queues,  with 
stated  intervals  for  moving  on.  There  was  a  momen- 
tary relief  in  looking  at  the  land.  The  cliffs,  the  soli- 
tary white  houses,  the  little  hamlets  half  hidden  in 
cozy  nooks,  seemed  to  be  so  absurdly  near.  It  was 
ridiculous  to  imagine  that  help  could  be  long  deferred. 
The  seaward  passing  of  a  steamer,  carrying  flowers 
from  the  Scilly  Isles  to  Penzance  for  Covent  Garden, 
caused  a  flutter,  but  the  sight  of  a  Penzance  fishing- 
smack  scudding  under  jib  and  close-reefed  foresail  be- 
tween the  rock  and  Guthenbras  Point  created  intense 
excitement.  Noah,  gazing  across  the  flood  for  the 
return  of  the  dove  with  the  olive  branch,  could  not  be 
more  pleased  than  these  castaways  in  their  granite  ark 
when  the  brown-sailed  boat  came  within  their  view. 

The  window  in  the  coal-cellar  opened  fair  towards 
the  Land's  End,  and  the  grimy  occupants  of  this  com- 
partment could  look  their  fill  at  the  messenger  of  life. 
[175] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

A  rich  New  Yorker  in  vain  offered  a  hundred  dollars  to 
any  man  who  gave  up  his  place  in  the  line  after  he  him- 
self, by  the  operation  of  the  time-limit,  was  remorse- 
lessly sent  away  from  the  narrow  loop-hole.  Dollars 
and  pounds  sterling  have  a  curiously  depreciated  value 
under  such  circumstances. 

The  men  of  the  watch  were  always  questioned  for 
news  by  the  unemployed  majority.  They  related  the 
comings  and  goings  of  the  Falcon,  carried  sympathetic 
inquiries  from  story  to  story  —  promiscuous  passing  to 
and  fro  being  forbidden  owing  to  the  narrowness  of  the 
stairs  —  and  seized  every  trifling  pretext  on  their  own 
part  to  reach  the  topmost  height  and  feast  their  eyes  on 
the  extensive  panorama  visible  from  the  storm-girt 
gallery.  Had  they  watched  the  coast-line  less  and 
the  reef  more  their  observations  would  have  had 
value. 

Quite  early  in  the  day,  the  purser  handed  to  the  oc- 
cupants of  each  room  a  full  list  of  passengers  and  crew, 
with  the  survivors  grouped  separately.  In  only  three 
instances  were  husband  and  wife  both  saved.  The 
awful  scene  in  the  saloon  accounted  for  this  seeming 
discrepancy.  Dazed  men  and  senseless  women  were 
wrenched  from  each  other's  clasp  either  by  the  over- 
whelming seas  or  during  the  final  wild  fight  for  life  at 
the  head  of  the  companion  stairway.  A  wreck,  a  fire 
in  a  theatre,  pays  little  heed  to  the  marriage  tie. 

The  third,  and  last  meal  of  the  day  was  eaten  in 
silence  and  gloom.  All  the  spare  lamps  were  diverted 
to  the  kitchen,  because  Brand,  during  a  further  detailed 
[176] 


Mrs.  Vansittart's  Fear 

survey  of  the  stores,  made  in  company  with  Mr.  Em- 
mett  and  the  purser,  discovered  that  there  was  an 
alarming  deficit  of  fresh  water  in  the  cistern. 

In  the  hurry  of  the  earlier  hours  a  serious  miscalcu- 
lation had  been  made  in  transmuting  cubic  feet  into 
gallons.  It  became  an  instant  necessity  to  use  every 
heating  appliance  at  command  and  start  the  distilla- 
tion of  a  drinkable  fluid. 

The  Gulf  Rock  Light  did  not  possess  a  proper  ap- 
paratus. The  only  method  that  could  be  adopted  was 
to  improvise  a  coil  from  canvas  sewn  into  a  tube.  The 
exterior  was  varnished,  and  wrapped  in  wet  cloths  to 
assist  the  condensation  of  the  steam.  Hence,  every 
kettle  and  pot  being  requisitioned  for  this  paramount 
need,  cocoa  could  be  supplied  to  the  women  alone, 
whilst  the  taste  of  the  water,  even  thus  disguised,  was 
nauseating.  No  more  potatoes  could  be  boiled.  Raw, 
they  were  almost  uneatable.  And  potatoes  happened 
to  be  the  food  most  plentiful. 

The  genuine  fresh  water,  reduced  to  a  minimum  in 
the  cistern,  was  only  a  little  better  in  condition  unless 
it  was  filtered,  and  Brand  decided  that  it  ought  to  be 
retained  for  the  exclusive  use  of  those  seriously  ill. 
Patients  were  multiplying  so  rapidly  that  the  hospital 
was  crowded;  and  all  fresh  cases,  as  they  occurred, 
perforce  remained  where  they  were. 

Neither  Constance  nor  Enid  felt  the  time  hang  heav- 
ily on  their  hands.  They  were  too  busy,  though  the 
new  ordinance  regarding  the  food  supply  transferred 
their  attention  from  active  cooking  to  the  replenishing 
[177] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

of  utensils  which  must  be  kept  full  of  salt-water  at 
boiling-point. 

Pyne  was  an  invaluable  assistant. 

In  the  adjustment  of  refractory  canvas  tubes  over  hot 
spouts,  in  the  manipulation  of  the  condensing  plant  so 
that  it  might  act  efficiently,  in  the  trimming  of  lamps, 
and  the  stocking  of  the  solitary  coal  fire,  he  insisted  on 
taking  to  himself  the  lion's  share  of  the  work. 

He  always  had  a  pleasant  quip  or  funny  story  to 
brighten  their  talk. 

"You  can  conquer  trouble  with  a  grin,"  he  said. 
"Worry  doesn't  cut  ice." 

Enid,  of  course,  chaffed  him  about  his  American  ac- 
cent, which,  she  protested,  she  would  acquire  after  a 
week's  practice. 

"  It  is  so  quaint  to  our  ears,"  she  went  on.  "  I  never 
before  grasped  the  reason  why  Mark  Twain  makes  me 
laugh.  All  he  does  is  to  act  as  a  phonograph.  Every 
American  is  a  born  humorist." 

"There's  something  in  that,"  admitted  Pyne.     "We 
do  try  to  dis-inter  a  joke.     Say,  have  you  girls  ever 
heard  how  an  English  professor  explained  the  Yankee 
» drawl?" 

"No,"  they  cried. 

"He  said  it  represented  the  effort  of  an  uneducated 
man  to  make  a  speech.  Every  time  his  vocabulary 
gave  out  he  lifted  his  voice  to'  show  he  wasn't  half 
through  with  his  ideas." 

"Oh,"  said  Constance,  "that  is  neither  kind  nor 
true,  surely." 

[178] 


Mrs.  Vansittart's  Fear 

"Well,"  agreed  Pyne  slowly,  "that  is  the  view  a 
friend  of  mine  took  of  the  remark.  So  he  asked  the 
professor  if  he  had  a  nice  agreeable  sort  of  definition, 
all  ready  for  use,  of  the  way  Englishmen  clipped  their 
syllables.  The  other  fellow  allowed  that  he  hadn't 
pondered  on  it.  'I  guess,'  said  my  friend,  'it  repre- 
sents the  effort  of  an  educated  ass  to  talk  English.' " 

Though  the  laugh  was  against  them  they  were  forced 
to  snigger  approval. 

"I  think,"  said  Constance,  "that  our  chief  national 
failing  is  pomposity,  and  your  story  hits  it  off  exactly. 
In  one  of  our  small  Cornish  towns  we  have  a  stout 
little  Mayor  who  made  money  in  cheese  and  bacon. 
He  went  to  see  the  Paris  Exhibition,  and  an  Exeter 
man,  meeting  him  unexpectedly  at  the  foot  of  the  Eiffel 
Tower,  hailed  him  with  delight.  '  Hello,  Mr.  Mayor  — 
he  began.  'Hush,'  said  the  mayor,  glancing  around 
mysteriously,  'I'm  'ere  in  cog.'" 

None  who  heard  these  light-hearted  young  people 
yelling  with  merriment  would  imagine  that  they  had 
just  dined  off  a  piece  of  hard-baked  bread  made  with- 
out yeast  and  washed  down  with  water  tasting  of  tar 
and  turpentine. 

"  Now,  Miss  Enid,  your  turn,"  cried  Pyne. 

Her  eyes  danced  mischievously. 

"Unfortunately,  by  the  accident  of  birth,  I  am  de- 
prived of  the  sense  of  humor,"  she  said. 

"  It  seems  to  be  in  the  family  all  right,"  he  hazarded, 
looking  at  Constance. 

"Alas!"  said  Enid,  "I  am  an  American." 
[179] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"I'll  smile  now,  if  that  is  all,"  said  Pyne. 

"  But,  please,  I  am  not  joking  a  little  bit.  When  you 
go  ashore  you  will  probably  hear  all  about  me,  so  I  may 
as  well  take  the  wind  out  of  the  sails  of  gossip.  I  am 
a  mere  waif,  who  came  sailing  in  out  of  the  West  one 
day  in  a  little  boat,  which  must  have  come  from  the 
New  World  as  no  one  appeared  to  have  lost  either  me 
or  it  in  the  Old.  Dad  picked  us  both  up  and  adopted 
me." 

Pyne  did  not  know  whether  to  take  her  seriously  or 
not,  until  he  sought  confirmation  in  a  pair  of  tranquil 
eyes  which  he  gazed  into  at  every  opportunity. 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  said  Constance,  gravely.  "  I  sup 
pose  that  the  mysterious  affinity  between  parents  and 
long-lost  children  which  exists  in  story-books  is  all  non- 
sense in  reality.  No  family  could  be  more  united  and 
devoted  to  each  other  than  we  are,  yet  Enid  is  not  my 
sister,  and  my  father  is  her's  only  by  adoption.  He 
found  her,  half  dying,  drifting  past  this  very  rock,  and 
before  he  could  reach  her  he  fought  and  killed  a  dread- 
ful shark.  We  are  very  proud  of  dad,  Mr.  Pyne. 
You  see,  he  is  our  only  relation.  Enid  knows  neither 
her  father  nor  mother,  and  my  mother  died  when  I  was 
a  baby." 

"  Great  Scott ! "  cried  Pyne. 

He  turned  quickly  towards  the  door.  Mrs.  Vansit- 
tart,  very  pale,  with  eyes  that  looked  unnaturally  large 
in  the  faint  light,  stood  there.  For  an  instant  he  was 
startled.  He  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Vansittart  since  they 
came  to  the  rock,  and  he  was  shocked  by  the  change  in 
[180] 


Mrs.  Vansittart's  Fear 

her  appearance.  He  did  not  like  her.  His  alert  intel- 
ligence distrusted  her.  But  it  was  not  his  business  in 
life  to  select  a  wife  for  his  uncle,  as  he  put  it,  and  he  had 
always  treated  her  with  respectful  politeness.  Now, 
owing  to  some  fleeting  aspect  which  he  could  not  ac- 
count for,  some  vague  resemblance  to  another  which  he 
did  not  remember  having  noticed  before,  he  viewed  her 
with  a  certain  expectant  curiosity  that  was  equally  un- 
intelligible to  him. 

She  held  out  a  scrap  of  paper. 

"Mr.  Traill  is  here,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Here!"  he  repeated,  wondering  what  she  meant, 
and  perplexed  by  her  icy,  self-contained  tone,  whilst  he 
thought  it  passing  strange  that  she  had  no  other  greeting 
for  him. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "that  is  the  best  word  I  can  find. 
He  is  near  to  us,  as  near  as  a  steamer  can  bring  him. 
Mr.  Brand  has  received  a  signaled  message;  he  wrote 
it  out  and  sent  it  to  me  by  a  man.  I  inquired  where  you 
were,  and  was  told  you  were  engaged  in  the  kitchen." 

For  some  reason  Mrs.  Vansittart  seemed  to  be  greatly 
perturbed.  Her  presence  put  an  end  to  the  gaiety  of 
the  place  quite  effectually. 

The  young  man  took  the  paper  in  silence. 

He  read :  "  Dear  Madam  —  a  signal  just  received 
from  the  Falcon  runs  as  follows :  — '  Mr.  Cyrus  J.  Traill 
is  on  board  and  sends  his  love  to  Etta  and  Charlie.  He 
will  make  every  preparation  for  their  comfort  ashore 
and  trusts  they  are  bearing  up  well  under  inevitable 
hardships.'  Yours  faithfully,  Stephen  Brand." 
[181] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Pyne  strode  to  the  door. 

"  I  must  see  if  I  can't  get  Mr.  Brand  to  answer  the 
old  boy,"  he  cried.  "Perhaps  you  have  attended  to 
that  already." 

She  did  not  make  way  for  him  to  pass. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  came  to  seek  you  on  that  ac- 
count. If  not  too  late,  will  you  tell  your  uncle  that  I 
do  not  wish  to  delay  a  moment  in  Penzance.  He  will 
please  me  most  by  arranging  for  a  special  train  to 
await  our  arrival  at  the  station." 

"  What's  the  hurry  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"A  woman's  whim,  if  you  like,  but  a  fixed  resolve, 
nevertheless." 

"Will  you  travel  in  that  rig-out?"  he  asked  quizzi- 
cally. 

"It  is  an  easy  matter  to  call  at  a  shop  if  we  reach 
shore  by  daylight.  Then  I  can  purchase  a  cloak  and 
hat  to  serve  my  needs.  Otherwise,  it  is  matterless  how 
I  am  attired.  Will  you  do  this  ?  " 

"Why,  certainly." 

She  gave  a  little  gasp  of  relief.  In  another  instant 
Pyne  would  have  gone,  but  Enid,  who  happened  to 
glance  through  the  window  which  opened  towards  the 
northwest,  detained  him. 

"There  is  no  hurry  now,  for  sure,"  she  said.  "The 
Falcon  is  half  way  to  Cam  du  by  this  time.  I  do  not 
suppose  she  will  return  until  it  is  too  dark  to  do  more 
than  signal  important  news  very  briefly." 

"  But  this  is  important,"  cried  Mrs.  Vansittart  shrilly. 
"It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  me." 
[182] 


Mrs.  Vansittart1  s  Fear 

"  'Fraid  it  can't  be  helped  ma'am,"  said  Pyne  civilly. 
"  Anyhow  we're  not  ashore  yet,  and  I  can't  see  that  any 
time  will  be  wasted." 

The  electric  bell  jangled  in  the  room,  causing  Mrs. 
Vansittart  to  jump  visibly. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  she  screamed. 

"  My  father  is  calling  one  of  us  up,"  explained  Con- 
stance. "It  may  be  a  message  from  Jack.  You  go, 
Enid." 

Enid  hurried  away.  She  had  scarcely  reached  the 
next  floor  before  Mrs.  Vansittart,  who  seemed  to  have 
moods  in  full  compass,  said  sweetly: 

"  Convey  my  deep  obligations  to  Mr.  Brand,  won't 
you,  Charlie.  Indeed,  you  might  go  now  and  write  out 
the  text  of  my  message  to  your  uncle.  Some  early  op- 
portunity of  despatching  it  may  offer." 

"All  right,"  he  said  in  the  calm  way  which  so  effect- 
ually concealed  his  feelings.  "Shall  I  escort  you  to 
your  room  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  I  came  here  quite  unassisted.  Miss 
Brand  and  I  can  chat  for  a  little  while.  It  is  most 
wearying  to  be  pent  all  day  and  all  night  hi  one  little 
room.  Even  the  change  to  another  little  room  is 
grateful." 

Pyne  bowed,  and  they  heard  his  steady  tread  as  he 
ascended  the  stairs. 

"Quite  a  nice  boy,  Charlie,"  said  Mrs.  Vansittart, 
coming  forward  into  the  kitchen,  with  its  medley  of 
queer-looking,  hissing,  steaming  contrivances. 

"  Yes.  We  think  he  is  exceedingly  nice,"  said  Con- 
[183] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

stance.  She  wondered  why  the  other  woman  seemed  al- 
ways to  stand  in  the  shadow,  by  choice.  The  strongest 
light  in  the  darkened  chamber  came  from  the  grate,  and 
Mrs.  Vansittart  deliberately  turned  away  from  it. 

"  If  all  goes  well  he  will  soon  be  my  nephew  by  mar- 
riage," went  on  the  other.  "I  quitted  New  York 
yesterday  week  in  order  to  marry  his  uncle  in  Paris. 
Rather  a  disastrous  beginning  to  a  new  career,  is  it 
not?" 

"  I  hope  not,  indeed.  Perhaps  you  are  surmounting 
difficulties  at  the  commencement  rather  than  at  the 
end." 

"  It  may  be.  I  am  so  much  older  than  you  that  I 
am  less  optimistic.  But  you  did  not  grasp  the  sig- 
nificance of  my  words.  I  said  I  was  to  be  married  in 
Paris." 

"Yes,"  said  Constance,  still  at  a  loss  to  catch  the 
drift  of  an  announcement  which  Mrs.  Vansittart  seemed 
so  anxious  to  thrust  upon  her. 

"  Well,  the  Chinook  was  wrecked  last  night,  or  rather, 
early  this  morning.  The  name  of  the  ship  was  not 
made  known  throughout  the  world  until  long  after  day- 
break. It  is  quite  impossible  that  Mr.  Traill  should 
have  reached  this  remote  corner  of  England  from  Paris 
in  the  interval." 

For  one  moment  the  girl  was  puzzled.  Then  a  ready 
solution  occurred  to  her. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  that  is  very  simple.  Mr.  Traill  was 
awaiting  your  arrival  in  Southampton,  thinking  to  take 
you  by  surprise  no  doubt.  That  is  sure  to  be  the  ex- 
[184] 


Mrs.  Vansittart9  s  Fear 

planation.  What  a  shock  the  first  telegram  must  have 
given  him!" 

"How  did  he  ascertain  that  his  nephew  and  I  were 
alive?" 

"  The  very  first  thing  father  did  was  to  telegraph  the 
names  of  all  the  survivors.  I  know  that  is  so  because 
I  saw  the  message." 

"Ah.  He  is  a  man  of  method,  I  suppose.  You  are 
proud  of  him,  I  heard  you  say." 

"I  think  there  is  no  one  like  him  in  all  the  world. 
We  are  so  happy  at  home  that  sometimes  I  fear  it  can- 
not last.  Yet,  thank  God,  there  is  no  excuse  for  such 
night-mare  terrors." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  cooed  in  her  gentle  way. 

"Indeed,  you  have  my  earnest  good  wishes  in  that 
respect,"  she  said.  "  Do  we  not  owe  our  lives  to  you  ? 
That  is  an  excellent  reason  for  gratitude,  if  a  selfish 
one.  But,  some  day  soon,  you  will  be  getting  married 
and  leaving  the  parental  roof." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  die  an  old  maid,"  laughed  Con- 
stance, "yet  I  have  not  discovered  a  better  name  than 
my  own  up  to  the  present." 

She  fancied  that  Mrs.  Vansittart  winced  a  little  at 
this  remark.  Deeming  her  visitor  to  be  a  bundle  of 
nerves,  she  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  other 
woman  read  into  the  words  some  far-fetched  disparage- 
ment of  her  own  approaching  marriage. 

"Of  course,"  she  continued,  affably  tactful,  "I  will 
hold  another  view  when  the  right  man  asks  me." 

"  Were  you  in  my  place,"  murmured  her  visitor,  ap- 
[185] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

parently  thinking  aloud  rather  than  addressing  Con- 
stance, "  you  would  not  be  fearful  of  misfortune  ?  You 
would  not  read  an  omen  of  ill  luck  into  this  dramatic 
interruption  of  all  your  plans?  After  many  years  of 
widowhood  I  am  about  to  be  married  again  to  a  man 
who  is  admirable  in  every  way.  He  is  rich,  distin- 
guished in  manner  and  appearance,  a  person  of  note 
not  only  in  the  States  but  on  the  Continent.  No  woman 
of  my  years  might  desire  a  better  match.  Why  could 
not  the  way  be  made  smooth  for  me  ?  Why  should  the 
poor  Chinook,  out  of  the  hundreds  of  mail-steamers 
which  cross  the  Atlantic  yearly,  be  picked  out  for 
utter  disaster  ?  It  is  a  warning  —  a  threat  from  the 
gods ! " 

The  unconscious  bitterness  of  her  tone  moved  the 
girl  to  find  words  of  consolation. 

"  I  would  not  question  the  ways  of  Providence  in  the 
least,"  she  said.  "Surely  you  have  far  more  reason 
for  thankfulness  than  for  regret." 

"Regret!  I  am  not  regretting.  But  I  have  gone 
through  such  trials  that  I  am  unnerved.  There,  child ! 
Forgive  me  for  troubling  you.  And  —  and  —  kiss  me, 
will  you,  and  say  you  wish  me  well!" 

She  moved  nearer,  as  if  driven  by  uncontrollable  im- 
pulse. Constance,  not  prepared  for  such  an  outburst, 
was  nevertheless  deeply  touched  by  this  appeal  for 
sympathy. 

"I  wish  you  all  the  joy  and  happiness  which  I  am 
sure  you  deserve,"  she  said,  stooping  to  kiss  the  wan, 
shrinking  face  held  up  to  her. 
[186] 


Mrs.  Vansittart's  Fear 

Mrs.  Vansittart  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears  and 
tottered  towards  the  door. 

"No,  no,"  she  gasped,  as  Constance  caught  her  by 
the  arm.  "  Do  not  come  with  me.  I  am  —  shaken. 
It  will  pass.  For  God's  sake,  let  me  go  alone!" 


[187] 


CHAPTER  XII 
PREPARATIONS 

PYNE  found  Enid  rosy-red  and  inclined  to  be  tearful. 
The  dying  light  of  day  was  still  strong  enough  in  the 
service-room  to  permit  these  things  to  be  seen. 

"No  bad  news,  I  hope?"  he  inquired,  though  the 
sight  of  Stephen  Brand,  seated  at  his  desk  and  placidly 
writing,  was  reassuring. 

The  question  steadied  her  to  an  extent. 

"It  is  nothing  of  any  consequence,"  she  said  and 
darted  past  him. 

Brand  looked  up  from  his  journal.  He  smiled, 
though  the  American  thought  there  was  a  hint  of  pain 
in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  going  to  lose  one  of  my  girls,"  he  said.  "  Oh, 
no,  this  is  not  a  loss  by  death  but  by  marriage.  If  I 
were  a  Frenchman,  I  would  describe  it  as  gaining  a 
son.  Enid  has  just  received  what  is  tantamount  to  a 
proposal." 

"  By  flag-wagging  ?  "  Pyne  was  naturally  astounded. 

"  Yes.  You  would  not  expect  one  of  the  people  from 
the  Chinook  to  be  so  enterprising." 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  said  Pyne,  punctuating  each 
word  with  a  deliberate  nod. 

[188] 


Preparations 

"  Well,  in  any  case,  I  would  not  have  forwarded  the 
application  after  an  acquaintance  of  eighteen  hours," 
observed  Brand  with  equal  deliberation. 

"  They're  two  powerful  fine  girls,"  said  Pyne,  steering 
clear  of  the  point.  "They  have  just  been  telling  me 
how  Miss  Enid  happened  along.  It  reads  like  a  fairy 
tale." 

"She  was  given  to  me  by  the  winds  and  waves,  yet 
she  is  dear  to  me  as  my  own  child.  I  shall  miss  her 
greatly  —  if  all  goes  well  here." 

"I've  cottoned  on  to  both  of  them  something  won- 
derful. But,  if  I  am  not  intruding  into  private  affairs, 
how  comes  it  that  Miss  Enid  is  being  telegraphed  for  ? 
Of  course  I  can  understand  the  gentleman  being  in  a 
hurry.  I  would  feel  that  way  myself  if  the  conditions 
were  favorable." 

Pyne  could  be  as  stolid  as  a  red  Indian  when  the 
occasion  demanded  it.  Brand  found  no  hint  in  his 
face  of  the  hidden  thought  in  his  words. 

"Have  they  said  anything  to  you  of  a  man  named 
Stanhope  ? "  inquired  the  lighthouse-keeper,  resuming 
the  entry  in  his  diary  after  a  sharp  glance  upwards. 

"  Y-yes.  They  pointed  him  out  to  me  this  morning. 
In  the  navy,  I  think.  Fellow  with  a  title,  and  that  sort 
of  thing." 

"  No.  His  mother  is  Lady  Margaret  Stanhope,  being 
an  earl's  daughter,  but  his  father  was  a  knight.  He 
has  been  paying  attentions  to  Enid  for  a  year  and  more, 
to  my  knowledge  and  to  his  mother's  exceeding  indig- 
nation, I  fancy." 

[189] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  That  is  where  we  on  the  other  side  have  the  pull  of 
you." 

"  Have  you  ?  I  wonder.  However,  Lady  Mar- 
garet's views  have  not  troubled  me.  I  will  deal  with 
her  when  the  time  comes.  At  present  it  looks  fairly 
certain  that  Master  Jack  has  settled  matters  on  his  own 
account.  I  may  be  mistaken,  of  course.  How  do  you 
interpret  this  ?  " 

He  closed  the  journal  and  handed  to  Pyne  a  memo- 
randum taken  down  letter  by  letter  by  a  sailor  as  Brand 
read  the  signal: 

"Mother  sends  her  love  to  Enid." 

"  Did  mother  ever  convey  her  love  to  Enid  before  ?  " 
asked  Pyne. 

"No." 

"Then  I  call  that  neat.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  Stan- 
hope. He  and  mamma  have  had  a  heart-to-heart 
talk." 

Brand  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  with  clenched 
fists  covering  his  ears.  There  was  a  period  of  utter 
silence  until  the  lighthouse-keeper  rose  to  light  the 
lamp. 

Pyne  watched  him  narrowly. 

"I  may  be  trespassing  on  delicate  ground,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  If  I  am,  you  are  not  the  sort  of  man  to  stand 
on  ceremony.  In  the  States,  you  know,  when  the 
authorities  want  to  preserve  a  park  section  they  don't 
say:  'Please  do  not  walk  on  the  grass.'  They  put 
up  a  board  which  reads:  'Keep  off.'  We  never  kick. 
We're  used  to  it." 

[190] 


Preparations 

"My  notice-board,  if  required,  will  be  less  curt,  at 
any  rate,"  replied  Brand,  and  they  faced  each  other. 
Though  their  words  were  light,  no  pleasant  conceit 
lurked  in  their  minds.  There  was  a  question  to  be 
asked  and  answered,  and  it  held  the  issues  of  life  and 
death. 

"  What  did  you  mean  just  now  by  saying,  '  if  all  goes 
well  here?'  Is  there  any  special  reason  why  things 
should  not  go  well  ?  " 

The  young  Philadelphian  might  have  been  hazarding 
an  inquiry  about  a  matter  of  trivial  interest,  so  calm  was 
he,  so  smooth  his  utterance.  But  Brand  had  made  no 
mistake  in  estimating  this  youngster's  force  of  charac- 
ter, nor  did  he  seek  to  temporize. 

He  extended  an  arm  towards  the  reef. 

"  You  hear  that  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"It  may  boil  that  way  for  weeks." 

"So  I  have  been  told." 

"By  whom?" 

"Mr.  Emmett  told  me." 

"Ah!  He  and  I  have  discussed  the  matter  already. 
Yet  I  imagine  that  neither  he,  nor  any  other  man  in  the 
place  save  myself,  grasps  the  true  meaning  of  the  fact." 

"  I've  been  theorizing,"  said  Pyne.  "  It  occurred  to 
me  that  this  light  isn't  here  for  amusement." 

He  looked  up  at  the  lamp  and  smiled.     The  pillar, 

in  those  days,  must  have  been  a  haunt  of  illusions,  for 

Brand,  like  Constance  and  Pyne  himself  in  the  case  of 

Mrs.  Vansittart,  thought  he  caught  an  expression  fa- 

[191] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

miliar  to  his  eyes  long  before  he  had  seen  that  clear-cut, 
splendidly  intelligent  face. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  idle  speculation.  He 
glanced  into  the  well  of  the  stairs  to  make  sure  that  no 
one  was  ascending. 

Then  he  approached  nearer  to  Pyne  and  said  in  an 
intense  whisper: 

"  It  is  folly  to  waste  words  with  you.  I  have  reasoned 
this  thing  out  and  now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  de- 
cided. I  will  take  the  watch  from  eight  until  twelve. 
At  twelve  you  will  relieve  me,  and  I  will  go  below  to 
secure  provisions  and  water  sufficient  to  maintain  the 
lives  of  my  daughters,  you  and  myself  for  a  few  hours 
longer  than  the  others.  By  right,  if  I  followed  the 
rules  I  have  promised  to  obey,  I  alone  should  live. 
That  is  impossible.  A  Spartan  might  do  it,  but  I  can- 
not abandon  my  girls  and  yet  retain  my  senses.  I 
trust  you  because  I  must  have  a  confederate.  If  the 
weather  does  not  break  before  tomorrow  night  we  must 
barricade  the  stairs  —  and  fight  —  if  necessary." 

His  face  was  drawn  and  haggard,  his  eyes  blazing. 
He  shook  as  one  in  the  first  throes  of  fever.  He  seemed 
to  await  his  companion's  verdict  with  an  over-powering 
dread  lest  any  attempt  should  be  made  to  question  the 
justice  of  his  decree. 

"Yes.  I  figured  it  out  that  way,  too,"  said  Pyne. 
"It's  queer,  isn't  it,  to  be  in  such  a  fix  when  there's 
all  sorts  of  help  within  call,  so  to  speak.  We  might  as 
well  be  in  a  mine  closed  up  by  an  explosion.  And,  I'll 
tell  you  what  —  I'm  real  sorry  for  you." 
[192] 


Preparations 

Brand,  collapsing  under  the  strain,  sank  into  a  chair. 

"It  is  an  awful  thing,"  he  moaned,  "to  condemn  so 
many  men,  women,  and  children,  to  such  a  death." 

A  spasm  of  pain  made  Pyne's  lips  tremulous  for  an 
instant.  He  had  forgotten  Elsie  and  Mamie. 

But  his  voice  was  fully  under  control  when  he  spoke 
again. 

"You  can  count  on  me  in  the  deal  in  all  but  one 
thing,"  he  said. 

The  older  man  looked  up  fiercely.  What  condition 
could  be  imposed  in  the  fulfilment  of  a  duty  so  terrible  ? 

"I  am  here  by  chance,"  went  on  Pyne.  "One  of 
your  daughters  may  have  told  you  that  Mrs.  Vansittart 
came  from  New  York  to  marry  my  uncle.  Anyhow 
you  would  know  she  was  dear  to  him  by  his  message 
today.  She  is  sort  of  in  my  charge,  and  I  can't  desert 
her.  It's  hard  luck,  as  I  don't  care  a  cent  for  her. 
She's  the  kind  of  woman  old  men  adore  —  fascinating, 
bird-like  creatures  —  when  the  cage  is  gilded." 

Brand  sprang  to  his  feet  and  raced  up  to  the  trim- 
ming-stage. When  his  hands  were  on  the  lamp  he  felt 
surer  of  himself.  It  gave  him  strength  during  the  hur- 
ricane and  it  would  strengthen  him  now. 

"There  can  be  no  exceptions,"  he  said  harshly. 
Pyne  waited  until  the  lighthouse-keeper  rejoined  him. 

"  I  ought  to  have  put  my  proposition  before  you  first 
and  made  a  speech  afterwards,"  he  said.  "  Constance 
and  Enid  will  join  you  here  when  you  say  the  word,  but 
I  will  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  barricade." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Brand.     "You  have  no  right  to 
[193] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

thrust  away  the  chance  that  is  given  you.  You 
saved  all  these  people  once.  Why  should  you  die 
uselessly  ?  " 

"What!  Suppose  it  pans  out  that  way.  Suppose 
we  live  a  couple  of  weeks  and  escape.  Am  I  to  face  the 
old  man  and  tell  him  —  the  truth?  No,  sir.  You 
don't  mean  it.  You  wouldn't  do  it  yourself.  What 
about  that  shark  the  girls  told  me  of.  I  can  guess  just 
what  happened.  He  wanted  the  light  refreshment  in 
the  boat.  Did  you  scoot  back  when  you  saw  his  fin  ? 
I'm  a  heap  younger  than  you,  Mr.  Brand,  but  that 
bluff  doesn't  go." 

"Thank  Heaven,  we  have  twenty-four  hours  yet!" 
murmured  Brand. 

"It  will  be  all  the  same  when  we  have  only  twenty- 
four  seconds.  Let  us  fix  it  that  way  right  now.  Don't 
you  see,  it  will  be  easier  to  deceive  the  girls  ?  And 
there's  another  reason.  Barricade  and  shoot  as  you 
like,  it  will  be  a  hard  thing  to  keep  three-score  desperate 
men  boxed  up  down  below.  When  they  begin  to  diet 
on  colza  there  will  be  trouble.  A  few  of  us,  ready  to 
take  chances,  will  be  helpful.  Some  of  them  may  have 
to  die  quick,  you  know." 

Brand  closed  his  eyes  in  sheer  affright.  In  that  way 
he  tried  to  shut  out  a  vision. 

"Be  it  so,"  he  gasped.     "May  the  Lord  help  us." 

It  was  the  responsibility  that  mastered  him.  Judges 
on  the  bench  often  break  down  when  they  sentence  a 
criminal  to  death,  but  what  judge,  humane,  tender- 
hearted and  God-fearing,  ever  pronounced  the  doom 
[194] 


Preparations 

of  seventy-eight  people  snatched  from  a  merciful  death 
to  be  steeped  in  horrors. 

At  last  his  iron  will  predominated.  The  knowledge 
that  the  path  of  duty  lay  straight  before  him  cheered 
his  tortured  soul.  No  man  could  say  he  erred  in 
trying  to  save  his  children.  That  was  a  trust  as 
solemn  as  any  conferred  by  the  Elder  Brethren  of  the 
Trinity. 

He  placed  a  hand  on  Pyne's  shoulder,  for  this  young- 
ster had  become  dear  to  him. 

"Had  I  a  son,"  he  said,  "I  should  wish  him  to  be 
like  you.  Let  us  strive  to  forget  the  evils  that  threaten 
us.  Brooding  is  useless.  If  need  be,  you  will  take 
charge  of  the  lower  deck.  There  is  starvation  allow- 
ance for  three  more  days  at  the  worst.  But  I  hate  the 
thought  of  starting  the  new  scale  tomorrow." 

"It  may  not  be  necessary." 

"  Candidly,  I  fear  it  will.  I  know  the  Cornish  coast 
too  well.  When  bad  weather  sets  in  from  the  south- 
west at  this  season  it  holds  for  a  week  at  the  lowest 
computation." 

"  Is  there  no  other  way  ?  Can  nothing  be  done  out 
there?" 

"  Able  men,  the  best  of  sailors,  the  most  experienced 
of  engineers,  have  striven  for  half  a  century  to  devise 
some  means  of  storm  communication  with  a  rock  light- 
house placed  as  this  is.  They  have  failed.  There  is 
none." 

"  That's  good,"  cried  Pyne  quite  pleasantly.  "  Where 
is  your  pouch  ?  I  feel  like  a  smoke.  If  I  hadn't  fired 
[195] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

that  question  at  you  I  should  have  wasted  a  lot  of  time 
in  hard  thinking." 

Brand  had  to  scheme  that  night  to  reach  the  store- 
room unobserved.  The  Falcon,  steaming  valiantly  to 
her  observation  post  near  the  buoy,  aided  him  con- 
siderably. He  permitted  the  night  watch  to  gather  in 
the  service-room  whilst  he  supplied  the  men  with  to- 
bacco, and  stationed  the  officer  on  the  gallery  to  observe 
the  trawler  in  case  she  showed  any  signal  lights. 

Since  the  attempt  on  the  lock  Constance  gave  the 
key  to  her  father  after  each  visit.  For  the  rest,  the 
inmates  of  the  pillar  were  sunk  in  the  lethargy  of  un- 
satisfied hunger.  Constance  and  Enid,  utterly  worn 
out  with  fatigue,  were  sound  asleep  in  the  kitchen,  and 
the  tears  coursed  down  the  man's  face  as  he  acted  the 
part  of  a  thief  in  securing  the  measured  allowance  of 
flour  and  bacon  for  one  meal.  The  diet  of  one  hungry 
meal  for  eighty-one  people  gave  twenty-seven  hungry 
meals  for  three.  He  ought  to  have  taken  more,  but  he 
set  his  teeth  and  refused  the  ungrateful  task. 

It  is  oft-times  easy  for  a  man  to  decide  upon  a  set 
course,  but  hard  to  follow  it. 

"A  week!"  he  murmured.  "Perhaps  ten  days! 
That  is  all.  Pray  Heaven  I  may  not  go  mad  before 
they  die!" 

Pyne,  watching  the  light,  knew  that  Brand  had  suc- 
ceeded. The  Falcon  went;  gradually  the  watch  dis- 
persed. 

"  Where  is  the  hoard  ?  "  asked  Pyne,  making  believe 
that  they  were  playing  some  comedy. 
[196] 


Preparations 

"Hidden  in  the  kitchen  lockers.  I  could  obtain 
only  distilled  water.  You  must  persuade  the  girls  in 
the  morning  that  something  went  wrong  with  the  ap- 
paratus." 

As  opportunity  offered,  Brand  transferred  the  tins  to 
the  lockers  of  the  service-room.  Pyne,  who  missed 
nothing,  shook  his  head  when  it  became  evident  that 
the  last  consignment  was  safely  stored  away. 

"Not  much  there,"  he  commented. 

"I  will  take  no  more!"  was  the  fierce  cry. 

"You  ought  to." 

"I  refuse,  I  tell  you!    Don't  torture  me  further." 

"  Any  chance  of  a  row  in  the  morning  ?  The  purser 
and  Mr.  Emmett  mount  guard  when  the  store-room  is 
opened." 

"  I  acted  my  role  well.  I  built  up  the  vacancies  with 
empty  tins." 

"My  sakes!"  cried  Pyne  pityingly,  "you  deserve  to 
win  through." 

"I  think  my  heart  will  break,"  muttered  Brand. 
"But  look!  The  lamp!  It  needs  adjusting." 

Indeed,  a  fresh  gale  seemed  to  be  springing  up.  The 
wind-vane  having  gone,  the  index  was  useless.  It  was 
not  until  a  burst  of  spray  drenched  the  lantern  that 
Brand  knew  of  a  change  taking  place.  The  wind  was 
backing  round  towards  the  north. 

The  barometer  fell  slightly.  It  portended  either 
more  wind  and  dry  weather,  or  less  wind  accompanied 
by  rain.  Who  could  tell  what  would  happen  ?  Fair 
[197] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

or  foul,  hurricane  or  calm,  all  things  seemed  to  be  the 
ungovernable  blundering  of  blind  chance. 

When  the  rock  was  left  in  peace  after  the  fall  of  the 
tide,  Pyne  promised  to  keep  the  light  in  order  if  Brand 
would  endeavor  to  sleep  until  day-break.  Rest  was 
essential  to  him.  He  would  assuredly  break  down 
under  the  strain  if  the  tension  were  too  long  main- 
tained, and  a  time  was  coming  when  he  would  need  all 
his  strength,  mental  and  physical. 

"  Here  have  I  been  snoozing  in  odd  corners  ever  since 
I  came  aboard,"  urged  the  American,  "and  I  have 
nothing  to  do  but  starve  quietly.  It's  ridiculous.  My 
funeral  is  dated :  yours  isn't.  You  can't  be  on  deck  all 
the  time,  you  know.  Now,  just  curl  up  and  count 
sheep  jumping  over  a  wall  or  any  old  game  of  the  sort 
until  your  eyes  close  of  their  own  accord." 

Brand  yielded.  He  lay  on  the  hard  boards,  with  a 
chair  cushion  for  pillow;  all  the  rugs  rescued  by  Con- 
stance were  now  needed  in  the  hospital.  In  less  than 
a  minute  he  was  sound  asleep. 

"  That  was  a  close  call,"  mused  Pyne.  "  In  another  hour 
he  would  have  cracked  up.  He's  a  wonder,  anyhow." 

The  lighthouse-keeper  slept  until  long  after  day- 
break. Pyne  refused  to  allow  anyone  to  disturb  him. 

Soon  after  seven  o'clock  the  watch  reported  that  two 
vessels  were  approaching  from  the  Bay.  One  was  the 
Falcon,  and  the  sailors  soon  made  out  that  the  other 
was  the  Trinity  tender  from  Plymouth. 

When  they  were  both  nearing  the  buoy,  Brand  was 
aroused. 

[198] 


Preparations 

It  was  evident  that  the  brief  rest  had  cleared  his 
brain  and  restored  his  self-confidence.  Instantly  he 
took  up  the  thread  of  events,  and  his  first  words  showed 
how  pleased  he  was  that  someone  of  authority  in  the 
lighthouse  service  should  be  in  active  communication 
with  him. 

Through  his  glasses  he  distinguished  Stanhope  on 
board  the  Trinity  steamer,  standing  by  the  side  of  the 
inspecting-officer  of  the  South- Coast  lights.  Other 
officials  were  there,  but  near  Stanhope  was  a  tall 
elderly  man,  unknown,  and  certainly  a  stranger  in 
Penzance. 

The  Falcon  was  now  chartered  by  press-men,  so  the 
civilian  on  the  official  boat  was  evidently  a  person  of 
consequence.  Indeed,  Brand  imagined,  long  before 
Pyne  was  able  to  verify  the  impression,  that  the  new- 
comer was  Mr.  Cyrus  J.  Traill,  whom  he  had  failed  to 
notice  in  the  poor  light  of  the  previous  evening. 

He  knew  quite  well  that  the  experienced  chief  of  the 
lighthouse  service  would  appreciate  fully  the  disabilities 
under  which  he  labored,  with  eighty-one  mouths  to  feed 
from  a  stock  already  far  below  the  three  months' 
maximum. 

The  first  telegraphed  question  betrayed  the  prevalent 
anxiety. 

"Hope  all  is  well?" 

What  was  he  to  say  ?  Was  it  not  best  to  speak  boldly 
and  let  men  know  the  truth,  not  alone  as  to  their  present 
desperate  plight  but  revealing  the  measures  he  had  de- 
vised for  the  protection  of  the  light?  He  could  not 
[199] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

make  up  his  mind  to  launch  out  into  a  full  explanation 
that  instant. 

So  he  signaled: 

"Everyone  alive,  but  many  cases  of  grave  collapse." 

Stanhope  was  again  the  signaler  —  evidently  he  had 
arranged  matters  with  the  Admiral  at  Portsmouth  — 
so  Brand  expected  the  prompt  reply: 

"How  are  Constance  and  Enid?" 

"Quite  well  and  cheerful." 

The  tall  man  near  Stanhope  bent  closer. 

"Are  Mrs.  Vansittart  and  Pyne  all  right?" 

Brand  assumed  that  the  lady  was  in  no  worse  condi- 
tion than  others.  Constance,  telling  him  the  state  of 
the  sick  during  a  hasty  visit,  had  not  mentioned  her 
name. 

So  he  sent  the  needed  assurance,  and  went  on  for- 
lornly: 

"  Suppose  no  effort  can  be  made  to  open  communica- 
tion?" 

To  his  great  surprise,  the  answer  came: 

"We  are  constructing  a  raft.  When  the  tide  falls 
this  afternoon  we  will  try  what  can  be  done." 

Ah,  how  glad  he  was  that  he  had  not  obeyed  his 
earlier  impulse,  and  horrified  the  anxious  rescuers  by  a 
prophecy  of  lingering  death  for  many,  with  the  prelude, 
perchance,  of  murderous  excesses  committed  by  men 
on  the  verge  of  madness.  If  that  story  had  to  be  told 
he  would  not  flinch,  but  it  was  a  grateful  thing  that  the 
hour  of  its  telling  might  at  least  be  deferred. 

A  long  message  followed,  a  string  of  loving  words 
[200] 


Preparations 

from  relatives  ashore  to  those  known  to  be  imprisoned 
on  the  rock.  During  the  merely  perfunctory  reading 
off  of  the  signals  his  active  mind  was  canvassing  the 
probabilities  of  success  or  failure  for  the  venture  of  the 
afternoon.  It  was  high-water  about  three  o'clock,  and, 
in  his  judgment,  with  the  wind  in  its  present  quarter, 
about  northwest  by  west,  the  cross  seas  which  would 
sweep  the  reef  and  engulf  the  lighthouse  at  half-tide 
would  render  it  wildly  impossible  for  any  raft  ever  built 
by  man's  hands  to  live  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
rock. 

However,  the  issue  lay  with  others  now.  He  knew 
that  they  would  do  all  that  brave  men  would  dare.  He 
was  tempted  to  make  known  the  inspiring  news  to  all 
hands,  but  refrained,  because  he  feared  ultimate  failure. 
Beneath  his  feet  was  a  human  volcano.  Stirred  too 
deeply,  it  might  become  active  and  dangerous. 

So  the  apathetic  multitude  in  his  charge,  hungrily 
awaiting  a  scanty  morsel  of  food  which  only  provoked 
what  it  failed  to  gratify,  must  rest  content  with  the  long 
statement  written  out  by  the  purser  and  read  by  him  at 
the  door  of  each  room. 

Pyne  took  to  Mrs.  Vansittart  the  news  of  his  uncle's 
presence  on  the  steamer. 

"  If  you  would  like  to  see  him,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no 
doubt  Mr.  Brand  will  let  you  stand  on  the  gallery  for 
a  little  while." 

She  declined,  excusing  herself  on  the  ground  of 
weakness. 

"In  this  high  wind,"  she  said,  "it  will  be  very  cold 
[201] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

out  there,  and  any  further  exposure  would  make  me 
very  ill." 

"That's  true  enough,"  he  agreed,  though  he  won- 
dered why  she  raised  no  question  concerning  the  mes- 
sage she  wished  him  to  convey  to  Mr.  Traill. 

Had  she  forgotten  the  urgency  of  her  words  over 
night?  He  had  carried  her  instructions  quite  faith- 
fully to  Brand  and  the  latter  smiled  at  the  fantasy. 

"Time  enough  to  think  of  such  things  when  we  are 
assured  of  the  lady's  departure,"  he  said,  and  they  left 
it  at  that. 

Thinking  to  interest  her,  Pyne  told  her  of  the  crowd 
on  the  Falcon. 

"  Mostly  reporters,  Brand  thinks,"  he  said.  "  What 
a  story  they  will  build  up  in  the  New  York  papers.  It 
will  be  more  fun  than  a  box  of  monkeys  to  get  hold  of 
this  week's  news  and  read  all  the  flapdoodle  they  are 
printing." 

But  Mrs.  Vansittart  was  not  to  be  roused  from  her 
melancholy.  She  dreaded  the  least  physical  suffering. 
Privation  was  a  new  thing  in  her  life.  Today  she  was 
inert,  timid,  a  woman  who  cowered  away  from  the  door 
and  was  obviously  anxious  that  he  should  leave  her  to 
the  quiet  misery  of  the  packed  bedroom. 

As  the  day  passed,  a  wearisome  iteration  of  all  that 
had  gone  before,  a  new  feature  in  the  relations  of  the 
crowded  community  made  itself  disagreeably  apparent. 
Men  drew  apart  from  each  other,  singly,  or  in  small 
groups.  An  inconsolable  gloom  settled  on  the  women. 
By  some  means,  the  knowledge  spread  that  they  might 
[202] 


Preparations 

all  starve  to  death  in  the  heart  of  this  cold  dungeon. 
They  began  to  loathe  it,  to  upbraid  its  steadfastness 
with  spoken  curses  or  unrestrained  tears.  The  sanc- 
tuary of  one  day  was  becoming  the  tomb  of  the  next. 
No  longer  was  there  competition  to  look  at  land  or  sea 
from  the  open  windows.  Everywhere  was  settling 
down  a  pall  of  blank,  horrible  silence  and  suspicion. 

Even  Constance  yielded  to  the  common  terror  once 
when  the  men  of  the  watch  escorted  the  bearer  of  a 
tray-load  of  provisions  to  the  occupants  of  the  coal- 
cellar. 

"Enid,"  she  whispered,  "did  you  see  the  light  in 
their  eyes?  What  is  it?  Does  hunger  look  that 
way?" 

"  It  must  be  so,  yet  it  is  almost  unbelievable.  They 
are  far  removed  from  real  starvation." 

"One  would  think  so.  But  it  is  so  hard  to  realize 
things  beforehand.  And  they  have  nothing  to  do. 
They  are  brooding  all  the  time.  We  are  slaves  to  our 
imagination.  Many  a  sick  person  is  allowed  to  eat 
far  less  than  these  men  have  been  given,  and  the  depri- 
vation is  not  felt  at  all." 

"What  will  become  of  us,  Constance,  if  we  are  de- 
tained here  for  many  days." 

"Dear  one,  do  not  ask  me.  We  must  not  think  of 
such  things." 

"But  dad  is  thinking  of  them.  I  watched  his  face 
when  I  took  him  a  scrap  of  food  just  now,  and  — " 

"  Hush,  dear.     Let  us  pray  —  and  hope." 

There  was  a  clatter  of  feet  down  the  iron  stairs. 
[203] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

The  men  of  the  watch  were  hustling  to  unbar  the  iron 
door.  A  solidly  built,  circular  raft  had  been  lowered 
from  the  Trinity  tender. 

An  assistant-keeper,  wearing  a  cork  jacket,  with  a 
rope  about  his  waist,  was  clinging  to  a  stumpy  mast  in 
the  centre.  Two  stout  guide-ropes  were  manipulated 
from  the  deck  of  the  vessel,  and  the  flat,  unwieldly  mass 
of  timber  was  slowly  drifting  nearer  to  the  lighthouse 
with  the  tide. 

The  door  of  the  column  opened  towards  the  east,  so 
the  wind,  with  its  pelting  sheets  of  spray,  was  almost  in 
the  opposite  quarter,  and  the  stout  granite  shaft  itself 
afforded  some  degree  of  protection  for  the  entrance. 

The  scheme  signaled  from  the  steamer  was  a  good 
one.  None  but  a  lunatic  would  endeavor  to  approach 
the  rock  itself,  but  there  was  a  chance  that  the  raft 
might  be  made  to  drift  near  enough  to  the  door  to  per- 
mit a  grapnel  to  be  thrown  across  the  rope  held  by  the 
gallant  volunteer  on  the  raft. 

It  was  his  duty  to  attach  the  two  ropes  and  thus  ren- 
der it  possible  for  a  stronger  line  to  be  drawn  from  the 
vessel  to  the  pillar.  There  was  no  other  way.  The 
lighthouse  did  not  possess  a  rope  of  sufficient  length  to 
be  drawn  back  by  the  raft  without  the  intervention  of 
some  human  agency. 

This  was  precisely  the  puny,  half-despairing  dodge 
that  the  reef  loved  to  play  with.  Cat-like,  it  permitted 
the  queer,  flat-bottomed  craft  to  approach  almost  within 
hail.  Then  it  shot  forth  a  claw  of  furious  surf,  the 
heavy  raft  was  picked  up  as  if  it  were  a  floating  feather, 
[204] 


Preparations 

turned  clean  over,  and  flung  many  fathoms  out  to  sea, 
whilst  both  of  its  guiding  cables  were  snapped  with  con- 
temptuous ease. 

The  assistant-keeper,  kept  afloat  by  his  jacket,  was 
hauled,  half  drowned,  back  through  the  choking  froth, 
whilst  the  wave  which  overwhelmed  the  raft  curled  up 
a  spiteful  tongue  and  almost  succeeded  in  dragging  out 
several  of  the  men  stationed  in  the  doorway. 

With  a  clang  the  iron  shutter  was  rushed  into  its 
place,  and  when  the  sailor  was  rescued  the  Trinity  boat 
steamed  away  to  try  and  secure  the  raft. 

So  joyous  hope  gave  way  once  more  to  dark  fore- 
boding, and  the  only  comfort  was  the  faint  one  to  be 
extracted  from  the  parting  signal: 

"Will  try  again  next  tide." 


[f05] 


CHAPTER  XIII 
BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

DISCIPLINE  slackened  its  bonds  that  night.  For  one 
thing  Mr.  Emmett  fell  ill.  Although  inured  to  hard- 
ship in  the  elemental  strife,  being  of  the  stocky  mariner 
race  which  holds  the  gruff  Atlantic  in  no  dread,  he  had 
never  before  been  called  on  to  eat  sodden  bread,  to 
drink  condensed  steam  flavored  with  varnish,  and  to 
chew  sustenance  from  the  rind  of  raw  bacon.  These 
drawbacks,  added  to  the  lack  of  exercise  and  the  con- 
stant wearing  of  clothes  not  yet  dry,  placed  him  on  the 
sick  list. 

Again,  there  were  ominous  whispers  of  unfair  division 
in  the  matter  of  food.  It  was  not  within  the  realm  of 
accomplishment  that  the  purser,  Constance,  Enid,  and 
others  who  helped  to  apportion  the  eatables  could  treat 
all  alike.  Some  fared  better  than  others  in  quality  if 
not  in  quantity.  The  unfortunate  ones  growled,  and 
talked  of  favoritism. 

A  crisis  was  reached  when  the  second  officer  mustered 
the  night  watch. 

When  one  sheep  leads  the  others  will  follow.     A 
stout  German  from  Chicago  asked  bluntly: 
[206] 


Before  the  Dawn 

"  Vere's  de  goot  of  blayin'  at  moundin'  gart  ?  Dere 
is  bud  von  ting  to  gart,  und  dat  is  der  kidchen." 

Community  of  interest  caused  many  to  huddle  closer 
to  him.  Here  was  one  who  dared  to  say  what  they  all 
thought.  Their  feet  shuffled  in  support.  The  officer, 
faithful  to  his  trust,  was  tempted  to  fell  the  man,  but  he 
thought  the  circumstances  warranted  more  gentle 
methods. 

"Why  are  you  dissatisfied?"  he  sternly  demanded. 
"  What  do  you  suspect  ?  Are  you  fool  enough  to  imag- 
ine that  you  are  being  cheated  by  people  who  are 
dividing  their  last  crust  with  you  ?  " 

"  How  do  ve  know  dat  ?  Dose  girls  —  dey  are 
chokin'  mit  Mr.  Pyne  all  der  day.  Dey  can'd  do  dat 
und  be  hungry,  like  us." 

"You  unmitigated  ass!"  said  the  disgusted  officer. 
"  There  is  food  here  for  three  people.  They  have  fed 
eighty-one  of  us  for  two  days  and  will  keep  us  going 
several  more  days.  Can't  you  figure  it  out  ?  Isn't  it  a 
miracle  ?  Here !  Who's  for  guard  and  who  not  ?  Let 
us  quit  fooling." 

And  the  doubters  were  silenced  for  the  hour. 

The  hymn-singer  endeavored  to  raise  a  chorus.  He 
was  not  greeted  with  enthusiasm,  but  a  few  valiant 
spirits  came  to  his  assistance.  A  couple  of  hymns  were 
feebly  rendered  —  and  again  —  silence. 

"  Say  when,"  observed  Pyne  calmly  when  he  entered 
the  service-room  to  find  Brand  trimming  the  spare 
lamp. 

"  Not  tonight,"  said  Brand. 
[207] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Why  not?  Hell  may  break  loose  at  any  moment 
downstairs." 

"  What  has  occurred  ?  I  heard  something  of  a  dis- 
pute when  the  watch  mustered  at  eight  o'clock." 

"Things  are  worse  now.  One  of  the  men  found  a 
gallon  of  methylated  spirit  in  the  work-shop." 

"Good  Heavens!    Did  he  drink  any  of  it?" 

"  He  and  his  mates  have  emptied  the  tin.  Eight  are 
helplessly  drunk  —  the  others  quarrelsome.  The  next 
thing  will  be  a  combined  rush  for  the  store-room." 

"  But  why  did  not  the  second  officer  tell  me  ? " 

"  He  thought  you  had  troubles  enough.  If  he  could 
depend  on  the  remainder  of  the  crowd  he  would  rope 
the  sinners.  Says  he  knows  a  slave  knot  that  will 
make  'em  tired." 

Brand's  eyes  glistened. 

"The  fools,"  he  said,  "and  just  as  the  weather  is 
mending,  too." 

"You  don't  mean  that?" 

"Listen." 

He  glanced  up  at  the  glass  dome.  Heavy  drops  were 
pattering  on  it;  they  looked  like  spray,  but  Pyne  shouted 
gleefully : 

"Is  it  rain?" 

"Yes.  I  was  just  going  to  summon  the  watch  to 
help  in  filling  every  vessel.  By  spreading  canvas  sheets 
we  can  gather  a  large  supply  if  it  rains  hard.  More- 
over, it  will  beat  the  sea  down.  Man  alive,  this  may 
mean  salvation.  Tie  those  weaklings  and  summon 
every  sober  man  to  help." 

[208] 


Before  the  Dawn 

With  a  whoop,  Pyne  vanished.  He  met  Constance  on 
the  stairs,  coming  to  see  her  father  before  she  stretched 
her  weary  limbs  on  the  hard  floor  of  the  kitchen. 

She  never  knew  exactly  what  took  place.  It  might 
have  been  politeness,  but  it  felt  uncommonly  like  a 
squeeze,  and  Pyne's  face  was  extraordinarily  close  to 
hers  as  he  cried: 

"It's  raining.  No  more  canvas  whisky.  Get  a 
hustle  on  with  every  empty  vessel." 

He  need  not  have  been  in  such  a  whirl,  however. 

When  the  shower  came  it  did  not  last  very  long,  and 
there  were  many  difficulties  in  the  way  of  garnering  the 
thrice  blessed  water.  In  the  first  place,  the  lighthouse 
was  expressly  designed  to  shoot  off  all  such  external 
supplies;  hi  the  second,  the  total  quantity  obtained  did 
not  amount  to  more  than  half  a  gallon. 

But  it  did  a  great  deal  of  good  in  other  ways.  It 
brightened  many  faces,  it  caused  the  drunkards  to  be 
securely  trussed  like  plucked  fowls  and  dumped  along 
the  walls  of  the  entrance  passage,  and  it  gave  Brand 
some  degree  of  hope  that  the  rescue  operations  of  the 
next  day  might  be  more  successful. 

When  the  rain  cleared  off,  the  moon  flickered  in  a 
cloudy  sky.  This  was  a  further  omen  of  better  fortune. 
Perhaps  the  jingling  rhyme  of  Admiral  Fitzroy's  barom- 
eter was  about  to  be  justified: 

"Long  foretold, 

Long  last; 
Short  notice 
Soon  past." 
[209] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

And  the  hurricane  had  given  but  slight  warning  of  its 
advent. 

"  I  feel  it  in  my  bones  that  we  shall  all  be  as  frisky  as 
lambs  tomorrow,"  said  Pyne,  when  he  joined  Brand 
after  the  scurry  caused  by  the  rain  had  passed. 

"  We  must  not  be  too  sanguine.  There  is  a  chance, 
now.  I  won't  deny  that,  but  the  sea  is  treacherous." 

"  This  reef  licks  creation.  At  Bar  Harbor,  in  Maine, 
where  a  mighty  big  sea  can  kick  up  in  a  very  few  hours, 
I  have  seen  it  go  down  again  like  magic  under  a  change 
of  wind." 

"That  is  quite  reasonable.  Any  ordinary  commo- 
tion has  room  to  spread  itself  in  the  tide- way.  Here 
the  tide  is  broken  up  into  ocean  rivers,  streams  with 
boundaries  as  definite  as  the  Thames.  The  main  body 
sweeps  up  into  the  bottle-neck  of  the  Channel.  Another 
tributary  comes  round  the  north  of  the  Scilly  Isles  and 
runs  into  the  tidal  stream  again  exactly  at  this  point. 
The  result  often  is  that  whilst  little  pleasure  boats  can 
safely  run  out  into  the  Bay  from  Penzance  there  is  a 
race  over  the  rock  that  would  break  up  a  stranded 
battle-ship." 

"  Say,  do  you  like  this  kind  of  life  ?  " 

"I  have  given  my  best  years  to  it." 

Pyne  was  smoking  a  pipe,  one  which  Brand  lent  him. 
The  tobacco  was  a  capital  substitute  for  food,  espe- 
cially as  he  had  established  a  private  understanding  with 
Elsie  and  Mamie  that  they  were  to  waylay  him  when 
possible  and  nibble  a  piece  of  biscuit  he  carried  in  his 
pocket. 

[210] 


Before  the  Dawn 

This  arrangement  was  to  be  kept  a  strict  secret  from 
all,  especially  from  Miss  Constance  and  Miss  Enid, 
whilst  the  little  ones  themselves  did  not  know  that  the 
she-dragons  whom  Pyne  feared  so  greatly  gave  them 
surreptitious  doses  from  the  last  tin  of  condensed  milk, 
retained  for  their  exclusive  benefit. 

"  Do  you  mind  me  saying  that  you  are  a  good  bit  of 
an  enigma?"  he  hazarded,  between  puffs. 

"It  may  be  so,  but  I  like  the  service." 

"  Just  so.  I  was  never  so  happy  as  when  I  took  a  trip 
as  fourth  engineer  on  a  tramp  in  the  Gulf  of  Florida. 
But  that  didn't  signify  being  tied  to  a  long-nosed  oiler 
for  the  remainder  of  my  days." 

"  Are  you  a  marine  engineer  ?  "  inquired  Brand,  with 
some  show  of  interest. 

"  I  hold  a  certificate,  just  for  fun.  I  had  a  mechan- 
ical twist  in  me  and  gave  it  play.  But  I  am  an  idler  by 
profession." 

The  lighthouse-keeper  laughed,  so  naturally  that  the 
younger  man  was  gratified.  Polite  disbelief  may  be  a 
compliment. 

"An  idler,  eh?  You  do  not  strike  me  as  properly 
classed." 

"It's  the  fact,  nevertheless.  My  grandfather  was 
pleased  to  invest  a  few  dollars  in  real  estate  on  the  sheep 
farm  where  Manhattan  Avenue  now  stands.  My  uncle 
has  half;  my  mother  had  the  other  half." 

"  Are  both  of  your  parents  dead  ?  " 

"Yes,  years  ago.  Lost  at  sea,  too,  on  my  father's 
yacht." 

[211] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"What  a  terrible  thing!" 

"  It  must  have  been  something  like  that.  I  was  only 
six  years  old  at  the  time.  My  uncle  lost  his  wife  and 
child,  too,  when  the  Esmeralda  went  down.  It  nearly 
killed  him.  I  never  thought  he  would  marry  again,  but 
I  suppose  he's  tired  of  being  alone." 

"Probably.  By  the  way,  now  that  you  mention  it, 
Mrs.  Vansittart  wished  to  see  me  yesterday.  I  could 
not  spare  a  moment  so  I  sent  her  a  civil  message.  She 
told  Constance  that  she  thought  she  knew  me." 

"Hardly  likely,"  smiled  Pyne,  "if  you  have  passed 
nearly  the  whole  of  your  life  in  lighthouses." 

"  I  did  not  quite  mean  to  convey  that  impression.  I 
knew  a  man  of  her  late  husband's  name,  many  years 
ago." 

"She  is  a  nice  woman  in  some  ways,"  said  Pyne  re- 
flectively. "  Not  quite  my  sort,  perhaps,  but  a  lady  all 
the  time.  She  is  not  an  American.  Came  to  the  States 
about  '90,  I  think,  and  lost  her  hubby  on  a  ranch  in 
California.  Anyhow,  the  old  man  is  dead  stuck  on  her, 
and  they  ought  to  hit  it  off  well  together.  The  Vansit- 
tart you  knew  didn't  happen  to  marry  a  relative  of 
yours  ?  " 

"No.     He  was  a  mere  acquaintance." 

"Odd  thing,"  ruminated  Pyne.  "It  has  just  oc- 
curred to  me  that  she  resembles  your  daughter,  —  your 
elder  daughter,  —  not  so  much  in  face  as  in  style.  Same 
sort  of  graceful  figure,  only  a  trifle  smaller." 

"  Such  coincidences  often  happen  in  the  human  fam- 
ily.    For  instance,  you  are  not  wholly  unlike  Enid." 
[212] 


Before  the  Dawn 

"Holy  gee!"  said  Pyne,  "I'm  too  run  down  to  stand 

flattery." 

"Likeness  is  often  a  matter  of  environment.  Char- 
acteristics, mannerisms,  the  subtle  distinctions  of  class 
and  social  rank,  soak  in  through  the  skin  quite  as  sen- 
sibly as  they  are  conferred  by  heredity.  Take  the 
ploughman's  son  and  rear  him  in  a  royal  palace,  turn 
the  infant  prince  into  a  peasant,  and  who  shall  say, 
when  they  reach  man's  estate,  'This  is  the  true  King.' 
You  will  remember  it  was  said  of  the  Emperor  Augus- 
tus: Urbem  lateritiam  invenit,  marmoream  reliquit. 
'  He  found  the  city  brick,  he  left  it  marble.'  The  same 
noble  result  may  be  obtained  in  every  healthy  child 
properly  educated." 

The  college-bred  youth  had  not  entered  into  any 
general  conversation  with  Brand  before.  He  had  the 
tact  now  to  conceal  his  astonishment  at  the  manner  of 
his  friend's  speech. 

"  You  fling  heredity  to  the  winds,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

Brand  rose  to  his  feet,  as  was  his  way  when  deeply 
moved. 

"Thank  God,  yes!"  he  cried. 

A  faint  hoot  came  to  them  through  the  chortling  of 
the  wind. 

"  One  of  our  visitors,"  shouted  Brand,  "  and  here  we 
are  gossiping  as  though  snugly  seated  in  arm-chairs 
at  the  fireside." 

He  hurried  to  the  gallery,  putting  on  an  oil-skin  coat. 

"  We  must  win  through,  and  I  guess  I'll  play  ball  with 
my  father-in-law,"  quoth  Pyne  to  himself  as  he  followed. 
[213] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

This  time  it  was  the  Falcon  alone,  and  she  signaled 
with  a  lamp  that  it  was  deemed  best  to  defer  active 
operations  until  the  following  afternoon.  The  tide  at 
dawn  would  not  suit. 

She  went  off,  and  the  two  men  returned  to  the  grate- 
ful shelter  of  the  service-room. 

Brand  forbade  further  talk.  Pyne  must  rest  now  and 
relieve  him  at  three  o'clock.  The  youngster  needed  no 
feather-bed:  he  was  asleep  in  amazingly  quick  time. 
There  is  a  supperless  hunger  which  keeps  people  awake 
at  night  with  a  full  larder  in  the  house.  The  crude 
article  differs  from  the  cultured  one  so  greatly  that  the 
man  who  hungers  of  necessity  cannot  sleep  too  much. 

Thus  far,  the  inhabitants  of  the  lighthouse  had  been 
given  quite  enough  nutriment  to  maintain  life.  There 
was  no  reason  why  any,  even  the  most  delicate,  should 
be  in  real  danger  during  the  next  forty-eight  hours. 
But  scientific  reasoning  and  the  animal  instincts  of  man- 
kind clash  at  times ;  in  that  lay  the  danger  whose  sullen 
shadow  was  deepening  the  lines  in  the  corners  of 
Brand's  eyes. 

Every  hour,  the  officer  on  duty  and  some  men  of  the 
watch  visited  him  to  report  that  all  was  well  below. 
Some  of  the  less  drunken  mutineers  were  pitifully  sober 
now :  the  others  were  maudlin.  Beyond  the  few  words 
exchanged  on  this  and  kindred  topics,  he  was  left  alone 
with  his  thoughts  throughout  the  silent  watch.  Pyne 
slept  heavily.  Glancing  at  times  at  the  youngster's 
stalwart  figure  and  firm,  handsome  face,  Brand  found 
himself  reviewing  the  buried  years.  He  thought  of  the 
[214] 


Before  the  Dawn 

days  when  he,  too,  looked  forth  on  the  world  with  the 
stern  enthusiasm  of  triumphant  youth. 

Long-forgotten  ghosts  were  resurrected,  shattered 
ideals  built  up  again.  He  wondered,  if  the  decades 
rolled  back,  would  he  decide,  a  second  time,  to  abandon 
the  fine  career  which  lay  at  his  feet  and  withdraw  his 
grief  and  his  talents  to  the  seclusion  of  lonely  rocks  and 
silent  headlands! 

He  had  been  happy,  as  men  count  happiness,  during 
the  decades.  No  cloud  had  arisen  to  mar  the  complete 
content  of  his  life.  The  blossoming  of  the  girls  into 
delightful  womanhood  was  an  increasing  joy  to  him, 
and  it  was  passing  strange  that  his  little  household 
should  be  plunged  into  a  whirlpool  of  events  in  the  very 
hour  when  their  domesticity  seemed  to  be  most  assured. 
The  changeful  moods  of  the  elements  found  no  counter- 
part in  his  nature.  He,  knowing  the  sea,  did  not  expect 
it  to  remain  fixed  in  one  aspect.  Whether  in  storm  or 
calm  the  contrary  would  surely  happen  'ere  many  days 
had  passed.  But  life  was  a  different  thing.  How 
came  it  that  at  the  very  close  of  so  many  years  of  asso- 
ciation with  the  fickle  ocean  she  should  play  such  a  trick 
on  him  and  his  daughters,  enfold  them  with  perils, 
snatch  them  from  the  quiet  pleasures  of  the  life  they  had 
planned  for  the  future,  and  thrust  upon  them,  even  if 
they  escaped  with  their  lives,  a  publicity  which  he,  at 
any  rate,  abhorred  and  even  dreaded. 

He  harbored  no  delusions  on  this  point.  He  knew 
that  the  drama  of  the  Gulf  Rock  was  now  filling  the 
columns  of  newspapers  all  over  the  world.  He  and  his 
[215] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

beloved  girls  would  be  written  about,  discussed,  de- 
scribed in  fulsome  language,  pictured  by  black  and 
white  artists,  and  eulogized  by  wide-awake  editors 
eager  to  make  much  of  a  topic  dear  to  the  public 
mind. 

On  the  rock  they  were  undoubtedly  in  grave  danger. 
Death  confronted  them  —  death  at  once  extraordinary 
and  ghastly.  No  tyrant  of  the  Middle  Ages,  with  all 
his  paraphernalia  for  wringing  truth  or  lies  out  of 
cringing  wretches,  had  devised  such  a  fate  as  threatened 
if  the  inconstant  sea  should  choose  to  render  the  reef 
altogether  unapproachable  for  many  days.  Yet,  if  help 
came,  he  and  those  dear  to  him  were  already  steeped  in 
unavoidable  notoriety,  bringing  in  its  train  certain  vague 
disabilities  which  he  had  striven  to  avoid  for  over 
twenty  years. 

And  all  this  because  one  fierce  gale,  out  of  the  many 
he  had  endured,  sprang  into  being  at  a  moment  when 
his  mates  were  incapacitated  and  his  daughters  hap- 
pened to  pay  him  a  surprise  visit. 

"It  is  an  insane  freak  of  fortune,"  he  muttered,  "so 
incomprehensible,  so  utterly  out  of  focus  with  common 
events,  that  if  I  were  a  superstitious  man,  I  should  re- 
gard it  as  betokening  the  approach  of  some  great  epoch 
in  my  life.  Surely,  a  merciful  Providence  would  not 
bring  my  girls  here  to  subject  them  to  the  lingering  tor- 
ture of  hunger  and  thirst.  I  must  not  think  of  it  fur- 
ther. That  way  lies  madness." 

There  was  at  least  one  other  troubled  soul  on  the  rock 
which  divined  some  sinister  portent  in  the  storm.  Mrs. 
[216] 


Before  the  Dawn 

Vansittart,  even  at  this  moment,  was  staring  into  the 
black  void  with  questioning  eyes. 

He  resolutely  threw  back  his  head  as  if  he  would  hurl 
into  the  outer  darkness  the  gibbering  phantom  which 
whispered  these  words  of  foreboding.  Although  the 
lamp  needed  no  attention  just  then,  he  climbed  to  the 
trimming  stage  merely  to  find  relief  in  mechanical  ac- 
tion. He  carefully  examined  the  adjustment,  and,  to 
judge  how  the  weather  was  shaping,  went  out  into  the 
gallery  to  look  at  the  distant  lights. 

The  three  quick  flashes  of  the  Seven  Stones  Lightship 
were  very  clear.  That  was  a  good  sign.  The  wind 
came  from  that  quarter,  and,  blustering  though  it  was, 
driving  gigantic  waves  before  it  into  the  loud  embrace 
of  the  reef,  it  maintained  the  good  promise  of  the  last 
few  hours. 

Seeking  the  comparative  shelter  of  the  east  side,  he 
gazed  steadily  at  the  Lizard.  Its  two  fixed  electric 
beams,  nearly  in  line  with  the  Gulf  Rock,  were  dull  and 
watery.  A  local  squall  of  rain  was  sweeping  down  from 
the  land.  Changeable,  threatening,  unsettled  —  the 
meteorologist  might  apply  any  of  these  terms  to  the 
prevalent  conditions. 

Far  out  in  the  Channel  he  saw  the  twinkling  mast- 
head lights  of  several  steamers.  Blow  high  or  low, 
mails  must  travel  and  vessels  put  to  sea.  On  such  a 
night,  at  other  times,  he  would  re-enter  the  lighthouse 
with  a  cheery  sense  of  its  comfort  and  home-like  aspect. 
Now  he  dreaded  the  brilliant  interior  of  the  service- 
room.  Its  garish  aspect  ill  accorded  with  the  patient 
[217] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

misery,  the  useless  repinings,  the  inebriate  stupor  which 
crouched  beneath.  If  he  and  those  committed  to  his 
charge  were  to  be  saved,  either  the  sea  must  be  stilled 
or  another  miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes  enacted. 

There,  alone  on  the  gallery,  amidst  the  din  of  howling 
wind  and  ceaseless  plaint  of  the  waves,  he  seemed  to  be 
apart,  cut  off  from  the  sufferings  within.  He  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  sombre  arch  of  the  heavens.  Men  said  the 
age  of  miracles  had  passed.  Pray  God  it  might  not 
be  so! 

When  Brand  went  out,  the  sudden  rush  of  cold  air 
through  the  little  door  leading  to  the  balcony  aroused 
Pyne. 

That  young  gentleman  was  rudely  awakened  from  a 
seriously  vivid  dream.  He  fancied  that  Constance  and 
he  were  clinging  to  the  tail  of  an  enormous  kite,  which 
had  been  made  to  hover  over  the  rock  by  a  green  imp 
seated  in  an  absurdly  small  boat. 

They  were  solemnly  advised  by  other  gnomes,  imps 
with  sparkling,  toad-like  eyes,  to  entrust  themselves  to 
this  precarious  means  of  escape,  but  the  instant  they 
dropped  off  the  ledge  of  the  gallery  their  weight  caused 
the  kite  to  swoop  downwards.  The  resultant  plunge 
into  the  ocean  and  Constance's  farewell  shriek  were 
nothing  more  terrifying  than  the  chill  blast  and  whistle 
of  the  air  current  admitted  by  Brand.  But  Pyne  did 
not  want  to  go  to  sleep  again.  He  did  not  like  emerald- 
hued  spirits  which  arranged  such  unpleasant  escapades. 

He  straightened  his  stiff  limbs  and  sat  up. 

He  was  about  to  feel  in  a  pocket  for  his  pipe  —  he 
[  218  ] 


Before  the  Dawn 

experienced  the  worst  pangs  of  hunger  after  waking  in 
such  fashion  —  when  he  saw  a  woman's  head  and 
shoulders  emerging  out  of  the  stairway. 

At  first  he  thought  it  was  Constance,  and  he  won- 
dered why  she  had  muffled  her  face  in  the  deep  collar  of 
a  cloak,  but  the  visitor  paused  irresolutely  when  her 
waist  was  on  a  level  with  the  floor. 

She  uttered  a  little  gasp  of  surprise. 

"  You,  Charlie  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  thought  you  slept  in 
the  kitchen  ?  " 

"No,  Mrs.  Vansittart,"  he  said.  "I  am  assistant- 
keeper  and  I  am  here  most  all  the  time  with  Mr.  Brand. 
But  what  in  the  name  of  goodness  — " 

"I  was  restless,"  explained  the  lady  hurriedly.  "If 
I  remained  another  minute  among  those  women  I 
should  have  screamed  aloud.  How  peaceful  you  are 
here.  Where  is  Mr.  Brand  ?  " 

"  Guess  he's  gone  outside  to  squint  at  the  weather. 
But  come  right  in.  I  can  offer  you  a  chair.  Mr. 
Brand  wants  to  see  you,  and  this  is  a  quiet  time  for  a 
chat." 

"  How  does  he  know  me  ?     What  did  he  say  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vansittart  pressed  her  left  hand  to  her  breast. 
With  the  other  she  kept  the  high  collar  over  her  mouth 
and  cheeks.  Pyne  could  only  see  her  eyes,  and  the 
alarmed  light  that  leaped  into  them  increased  his  aston- 
ishment at  her  unexpected  presence. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  answered,  "that  if  you  just 
walk  up  four  more  steps  and  sit  down  you  can  ask  him 
all  those  things  yourself." 

[219] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Were  you  speaking  of  me  to  him." 

"I  did  happen  to  mention  you." 

"And  he  said  he  knew  me?" 

"  No,  ma'am.  He  said  nothing  of  the  sort.  But,  for 
mercy's  sake,  what  mystery  is  there  about  it  ?  " 

"Mystery!  None  whatever.  I  was  mistaken.  I 
have  never  met  him.  I  came  now  to  explain  that  to 
him.  Oh—" 

She  dived  suddenly  as  the  gallery  door  opened. 
Brand  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  her  vanishing  form. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

Pyne  had  found  his  pipe  and  was  filling  it  with 
tobacco. 

"Mrs.  Vansittart,"  he  answered. 

"Paying  her  long-deferred  visit,  I  suppose.  She 
chose  a  curious  hour." 

"  So  I  thought.  But  she  just  popped  her  head  in  to 
tell  you  that  she  didn't  know  you  at  all." 

Brand  smiled. 

"Poor  lady!"  he  said.  She,  like  the  rest  of  us,  is 
perturbed  and  uneasy.  I  imagine  she  is  of  a  somewhat 
hysterical  temperament." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Pyne. 

There  were  puzzling  discrepancies  in  Mrs.  Vansit- 
tart's  explanation  of  her  untimely  appearance.  Evi- 
dently, she  did  not  expect  to  meet  him  there.  She 
thought  she  would  find  the  lighthouse-keeper  alone. 
The  ready  deduction  presented  itself  that  when  she  did 
encounter  Brand  she  did  not  wish  any  third  person  to 
be  present  at  the  interview. 

[220] 


Before  the  Dawn 

That  Constance's  father  had  no  cause  to  look  at 
matters  in  the  same  light  he  was  quite  certain.  Any- 
how, it  was  not  his  affair,  and  he  declined  to  trouble 
his  head  about  Mrs.  Vansittart's  vagaries. 

So  the  young  philosopher  lit  his  pipe  and  delivered  a 
dictum  on  the  sex. 

"Some  women,"  he  said,  "are  made  up  of  contra- 
dictions. She  is  one.  I  have  known  her  for  some  time 
and  I  thought  nothing  could  phaze  her.  But  there 
must  be  a  sort  of  society  crust  over  her  emotions,  and 
the  wreck  broke  it.  Now,  for  my  part,  I  like  a  woman 
with  a  clear  soul,  one  in  whose  eyes  you  can  catch  the 
glint  of  the  inner  crystal." 

"They  are  rare,"  said  Brand. 

"  I  suppose  so.  Indeed,  it  used  to  be  a  mere  ideal  of 
mine,  built  up  from  books.  But  they  exist,  and  they 
are  worth  looking  for." 

He  waited,  lest  perchance  the  other  man  should  take 
the  cue  thus  offered,  but  Brand,  for  the  twentieth  time, 
was  poring  over  the  records  of  the  days  which  followed 
the  hurricane  reported  by  a  former  keeper.  The  Amer- 
ican pursed  his  lips. 

"  He  has  had  a  bad  time  with  a  woman  once  in  his 
life,"  he  mused.  "It  must  have  been  Constance's 
mother,  and  that  is  why  he  doesn't  believe  in  heredity. 
Well,  I  guess  he's  right." 

Had  he  seen  Mrs.  Vansittart  cowering  on  her  knees 
outside  her  bedroom  door,  he  might  have  found  cause 
for  more  disturbing  reflections.     She  was  crying  softly, 
with  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 
[221] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"Oh,  I  dare  not,  I  dare  not!"  she  moaned.  "I  am 
the  most  miserable  woman  in  the  world.  It  would  have 
been  better  if  I  had  gone  down  with  the  vessel.  The 
Lord  saved  me  only  to  punish  me.  My  heart  will 
break.  What  shall  I  do?  Where  shall  I  hide?" 

And  her  sobbing  only  ceased  when  the  noise  of  as- 
cending footsteps  drove  her  into  the  company  of  sor- 
rowful women  who  would  nevertheless  have  forgotten 
some  of  their  own  woes  did  they  but  realize  her  greater 
anguish. 


[222] 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  WAY  THEY  HAVE  IN  THE  NAVY 

"  SOME  people  are  never  satisfied,"  said  Pyne,  whilst 
he  helped  the  cooks  by  smashing  a  ham  bone  with  a 
hammer.  The  bone  had  been  picked  clean  of  meat 
and  marrow  on  the  first  day  after  the  wreck,  but  it 
occurred  to  Enid  that  if  it  were  broken  up  and  boiled 
she  might  procure  some  sort  of  nourishment  for  the 
two  children,  who  were  fast  running  down  in  condi- 
tion. 

"What  is  the  matter  now?"  inquired  Constance, 
whose  attentive  eyes  were  hovering  between  the  cooking 
stove  and  a  distilling  kettle. 

All  the  flour  and  biscuits,  with  the  exception  of  two 
tins  reserved  for  extremities,  had  been  used.  She  was 
striving  to  concoct  cakes  of  chocolate  out  of  cocoa,  an 
article  more  plentiful  than  any  other  food  of  its  kind  in 
stock,  but  water  could  not  be  spared,  and  eating  dry 
powder  was  difficult  to  parched  palates. 

"There  are  two  tug-boats,  a  trawler,  and  a  Trinity 
service-boat  not  half  a  mile  away,"  said  Pyne,  "and 
the  cliffs  at  Land's  End  are  peppered  with  people." 

"Surely  that  is  satisfactory.  Dad  told  me  that  the 
[223] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Falcon  signaled  this  morning  he  was  to  expect  a  special 
effort  to  be  made  at  half  tide  on  the  flow,  and  not  on  the 
ebb  as  was  arranged  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  that  is  all  right  so  far  as  it  goes."  Pyne  leaned 
forward  with  the  air  of  one  about  to  impart  information 
of  great  value.  "But  the  extraordinary  thing  is  that 
whilst  every  man  on  board  those  vessels  is  thinking  like 
steam  how  best  to  get  into  the  lighthouse,  we  are  most 
desperately  anxious  to  get  out  of  it.  So  you  see,  as  I 
said  before,  some  people  — " 

"Oh,  dash!"  cried  Enid,  "I've  gone  and  burnt  my 
finger  all  through,  listening  to  your  nonsense." 

"Are  there  really  many  people  on  the  cliffs?"  de- 
manded Constance. 

Pyne  pounded  the  bone  viciously. 

"I  go  out  of  my  way  to  inform  you  of  a  number  of 
interesting  and  strictly  accurate  facts,"  he  protested, 
"  and  one  of  you  burns  her  fingers  and  the  other  doubts 
my  word.  Yet,  if  I  called  your  skepticism  unfeeling, 
Miss  Enid  would  be  angry." 

"I  don't  know  why  kettle  lids  are  so  cantankerous," 
said  Enid.  "They  seem  to  get  hot  long  before  the 
water  does." 

"The  hottest  part  of  any  boil  is  on  top,"  said  Pyne. 

Enid  smiled  forgiveness.  "I  believe  you  would  be 
cheerful  if  you  were  going  to  be  electrocuted,"  she  said, 
pensively.  "Yet,  goodness  knows,  it  is  hard  to  keep 
one's  spirits  up  this  morning.  The  sea  is  as  bad  as  ever. 
What  will  become  of  us  if  we  get  no  relief  today?" 

"Mr.  Pyne,"  interrupted  Constance  suddenly,  "do 
[224] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

you  think  that  any  of  the  men  can  have  gained  access 
to  the  store-room  during  the  night  ?  " 

"I  can't  say  for  sure,"  he  replied.  "What  has  put 
that  into  your  mind?" 

"The  purser  and  I  examined  all  that  was  left  this 
morning,  and  we  both  agreed  that  some  of  the  things 
had  disappeared.  It  is  very  strange." 

Pyne  was  not  wholly  prepared  for  this  mine  being 
sprung  on  him.  Se  he  essayed  to  gain  time. 

"  It  doesn't  appeal  to  me  in  that  light.  There  was  a 
miscalculation  about  the  water.  Why  not  about  the 
food?" 

"  Because  my  father  went  through  all  the  stores  per- 
sonally and  portioned  them  out.  Some  flour  and 
tinned  meat  have  gone;  I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  The 
question  is  —  who  can  have  taken  them.  The  flour, 
at  least,  must  have  attracted  attention  if  anybody  tried 
to  eat  it." 

"Did  you  say  all  that  to  the  purser?"  he  asked, 
suspending  his  labors  and  looking  at  her  steadily. 

"No.  We  could  not  remember  exactly  what  pro- 
portion of  the  various  articles  there  ought  to  be  left." 

"  Then  take  my  advice,  Miss  Constance,  and  keep  on 
forgetting,"  he  said. 

A  quick  flush  came  into  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  You  are  not  saying  that  without  good  cause  ?  "  she 
murmured. 

"  I  have  the  best  of  reasons.  If  the  least  hint  of  such 
a  thing  goes  round  among  the  men  there  will  be  ruc- 
tions." 

[225] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Constance  went  to  the  door  and  closed  it. 

"Enid,"  she  said,  "I  believe  father  and  Mr.  Pyne 
have  got  some  dreadful  plan  in  their  minds  which  they 
dare  not  tell  us  about." 

But  the  American  was  not  to  be  cornered  in  such 
fashion.  He  opened  the  door  again  and  went  out, 
pausing  on  the  threshold  to  say: 

"  I  wouldn't  venture  to  guess  what  might  be  troubling 
Mr.  Brand,  but  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  what  he 
says,  goes.  Talk  about  grasping  a  nettle  firmly,  I  be- 
lieve your  father  would  grab  a  scorpion  by  the  tail  if  he 
felt  that  way." 

And  with  this  cryptic  utterance  he  quitted  them,  in- 
tending to  warn  Brand  at  the  first  opportunity  that  the 
time  was  at  hand  when  he  must  harden  his  heart  and 
take  the  decisive  step  of  cutting  off  communication 
between  the  service-room  and  the  remainder  of  the 
building. 

This  could  be  done  easily.  The  flanges  of  the  upper- 
most iron  staircase  were  screwed  to  the  floor  above  and 
below.  A  few  minutes'  labor  would  remove  the  screws ; 
the  steps  could  be  lifted  bodily  into  the  service-room 
and  there  utilized  to  seal  the  well. 

"What  a  howling  menagerie  will  break  loose  here 
when  they  find  out,"  thought  Pyne.  "  It's  a  hard  thing 
to  say,  but  we  ought  to  have  the  door  open.  Quite  a 
stack  of  folks  will  need  to  be  pitched  outside." 

A  comforting  reflection  truly,  yet  his  face  bore  no 
token  thereof  as  he  joined  the  lighthouse-keeper  and 
several  of  the  Chinook's  officers  and  men  on  the  gallery. 
[226] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

The  wind  had  shifted  another  couple  of  points  to  the 
north,  and  the  sea,  apart  from  the  reef,  was  running  in 
a  heavy  unbroken  swell.  That  was  the  tantalizing 
part  of  it.  Any  ordinary  ship's  boat,  properly  managed, 
could  live  in  perfect  safety  in  the  open. 

But  the  iron-toothed  reef,  with  its  tortuous  channels 
and  battling  currents  changing  with  every  stage  of  the 
tide,  surrounded  the  pillar  with  an  apparently  impass- 
able barrier,  whilst  the  lighthouse  itself  offered  as 
frowning  a  front  as  any  of  the  black  rocks  which  reared 
their  weed-covered  crests  at  low  water. 

Signals  were  being  exchanged  between  the  gallery 
and  the  Trinity  tender.  Brand  seemed  to  be  very  em- 
phatic in  his  answers  to  the  communications  made  to 
him  by  Stanhope. 

"  No,  no,"  he  muttered  aloud,  whilst  the  anxious  man 
near  him  wondered  why  he  was  so  impatient. 

"  It  is  utterly  impossible ! "  he  said  again.  "  No  boat 
can  do  it  —  some  one  should  stop  him.  It  means 
certain  loss  of  We!" 

At  last,  becoming  aware  that  his  companions  could 
not  understand  what  was  going  on,  he  turned  to  them 
with  passionate  explanation. 

"That  brave  fellow  Stanhope  says  that,  with  two 
others  at  the  oars,  he  intends  to  row  near  enough  to  the 
rock  at  half  flood  to  endeavor  to  spring  onto  the  ladder.  I 
cannot  persuade  him  that  no  man  has  ever  yet  succeeded 
in  such  a  mad  project.  Look  below,  and  see  how  each 
wave  climbs  around  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  of  the  base. 
The  thing  is  wildly  impracticable.  He  will  be  swept  off 
[227] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

and  smashed  to  pieces  before  our  eyes,  even  if  the  boat 
escapes." 

"  If  the  boat  can  come  near  enough  for  that  purpose, 
couldn't  we  heave  a  line  aboard  her  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
ship's  officers. 

"We  can  try.  I  shall  signal  them  to  that  effect. 
Anything  is  better  than  to  sanction  an  attempt  which  is 
foredoomed  to  failure,  and  must  result  in  the  death  of 
the  man  who  tries  it." 

Thereupon  more  energetic  flag-waving  took  place. 
Finally  Brand  desisted  in  sheer  exasperation. 

"I  cannot  convince  him,"  he  cried.  "He  has  made 
up  his  mind.  May  the  Lord  preserve  him  from  a  peril 
which  I  consider  to  be  a  mortal  one." 

"  Has  he  put  forward  any  theory  ?  "  asked  Pyne.  "  He 
was  doing  a  lot  of  talking." 

"  Yes,"  explained  Brand.  "  He  believes  that  a  strong 
boat,  rowed  to  the  verge  of  the  broken  water,  might 
watch  her  opportunity  and  dart  in  close  to  the  ladder 
on  the  backwash  of  a  big  wave,  allowing  its  successor  to 
lift  her  high  enough  for  an  active  man  to  jump  onto  the 
rungs.  The  rowers  must  pull  for  their  lives  the  instant 
the  wave  breaks  and  leave  him  clinging  to  the  ladder  as 
best  he  can.  There  is  more  chance  of  success  in  that 
way,  he  thinks,  than  in  trying  to  make  fast  a  line  thrown 
by  us,  even  if  it  fell  over  the  boat.  It  is  all  a  question 
of  time,  he  argues,  and  I  have  failed  to  convince  him 
that  not  only  he  but  his  companions  will  be  lost." 

"Is  there  no  chance?"  inquired  the  second  officer. 

"Look  below,"  repeated  Brand  hopelessly,  and  in- 
[228] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

deed,  when  they  obeyed  him,  craning  their  necks  over 
the  rail  to  examine  the  seething  cauldron  from  which 
the  granite  tower  tapered  up  to  them,  no  man  could  say 
that  the  lighthouse-keeper  deplored  Stanhope's  decision 
without  good  reason. 

They  understood  matters  a  little  better,  perhaps, 
when,  one  by  one,  they  re-entered  the  lantern,  the 
Falcon  having  flitted  away  to  make  her  final  prepara- 
tions. Brand  asked  them  not  to  make  known  the 
nature  of  the  pending  undertaking. 

"  If  I  thought  it  would  do  any  good  to  the  suffering 
people  I  would  gladly  see  them  enlivened  by  the  news," 
he  said.  "I  confess,  however,  I  expect  nothing  but 
disastrous  failure  —  and  —  gentlemen  —  Lieutenant 
Stanhope  is  practically  engaged  to  be  married  to  one  of 
my  daughters." 

What  was  to  be  said  ?  They  quitted  him  in  the  silence 
that  was  the  dominant  note  of  their  lives  just  then. 
Pyne  alone  remained.  He  wondered  why  one  man 
should  be  called  on  to  endure  so  much. 

Though  each  of  those  present  on  the  gallery  was 
loyal  to  Brand's  sorrowful  request,  it  was  impossible  to 
prevent  others  from  seeing  that  something  of  excep- 
tional interest  was  in  progress  afloat  and  on  the  rock. 

Brand  did  not  know  that  the  officials  of  the  Trinity 
House  had  only  agreed  to  help  Stanhope's  hazardous 
project  under  compulsion.  The  sailor  informed  them 
that  he  was  determined  to  carry  out  his  scheme,  with  or 
without  their  assistance.  So,  when  the  Falcon,  the 
tender,  and  a  strong  tug  hired  by  Mr.  Traill,  rounded 
[229] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

the  distant  Cam  du  headland  at  eleven  o'clock,  the 
lighthouse-keeper  felt  that  further  protest  was  unavail- 
ing. It  behooved  him  to  take  all  possible  measures  to 
help  the  men  who  were  about  to  dare  so  much  to  help 
him. 

In  the  first  place,  he  caused  a  rope  to  be  swung  from 
the  gallery  to  the  doorway.  If  any  doubt  were  enter- 
tained as  to  the  grave  risk  attending  Stanhope's  enter- 
prise it  was  promptly  dispelled  by  the  extreme  difficulty 
met  with  in  accomplishing  this  comparatively  simple 
task.  Even  a  heavy  piece  of  wood,  slung  to  the  end  of 
the  ninety  odd  feet  of  cord  necessary,  did  not  prevent 
the  wind  from  lashing  the  weighted  end  in  furious 
plunges  seaward.  At  last  a  sailor  caught  the  swinging 
block  with  a  boat-hook.  The  man  would  have  been 
carried  away  by  a  climbing  wave  had  not  his  mates 
perceived  his  danger  and  held  him.  Then  two  life- 
buoys were  attached  to  other  ropes,  in  case  there  might 
be  some  slight  chance  of  using  them.  The  tackle  which 
the  unfortunate  captain  of  the  Chinook  had  cast  adrift 
was  utilized  to  construct  safety  lines  in  the  entrance  way. 
Loops  were  fastened  to  them,  in  which  six  of  the  strong- 
est men  available  were  secured  against  the  chance  of 
being  swept  through  the  door  to  instant  death. 

Meanwhile,  the  three  vessels  had  steamed  close  to  the 
mooring  buoy,  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  lay  in  full 
view  of  the  kitchen  window.  Constance  gave  them  a 
casual  glance.  Being  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  sea,  she 
instantly  discovered  that  some  unusual  event  was  astir. 

She  called  her  sister's  attention  to  the  maneuvers  of 
[230] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

the  steamers;  one,  the  Trinity  tender,  lay  broadside  on 
to  the  incoming  tide. 

"They  are  lowering  a  boat,  I  do  declare,"  she  an- 
nounced, after  they  had  watched  the  proceedings  for  a 
little  while  with  growing  curiosity.  At  the  distance, 
nearly  six  hundred  yards,  it  was  difficult  to  discern  ex- 
actly what  was  taking  place. 

"No  boat  can  live  if  it  comes  near  the  rock,"  cried 
Enid.  And  then  a  wild  thought  brought  her  heart  to 
her  mouth. 

"  Oh,  Connie!"  she  cried  in  a  sudden  access  of  terror, 
"I  feel  sure  that  Jack  is  doing  something  desperate  to 
save  us.  Dad  knows.  They  all  know,  but  they  would 
not  tell  us.  That  is  why  Mr.  Pyne  has  not  been  near 
us  for  hours." 

"It  cannot  be.  No  one  would  permit  it.  Father 
would  never  give  his  sanction.  Enid,  my  dear  one,  why 
do  you  say  such  things?  You  frighten  me!" 

But  Constance's  lips  were  bloodless,  and  her  eyes 
dilated  with  the  fear  which  she,  too,  would  fain  deny. 

They  were  perched  so  high  above  the  sea  that  the 
dancing  hillocks  of  green  water  could  not  wholly  ob- 
scure the  stoutly  built  craft  which  bobbed  into  startling 
prominence  round  the  stern  of  the  tender. 

"It  is,  it  is!"  shrieked  Enid.  "Look,  Connie! 
There  is  Jack  kneeling  in  the  bow.  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear! 
Is  he  mad  ?  Why  don't  they  stop  him  ?  I  cannot  bear  to 
look.  Connie,  tell  me  —  shall  I  see  him  drowned  be- 
fore my  eyes  ?  " 

The  girl  was  distraught,  and  her  sister  was  in  little 
[231] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

better  plight.  Fascinated,  speechless,  clinging  to  each 
other  like  panic-stricken  children,  they  followed  the 
leaping  boat  with  the  glassy  stare  of  those  who  gaze, 
open-eyed,  at  remorseless  death. 

They  scarce  understood  what  was  toward. 

As  the  boat,  a  strong  craft,  yet  such  a  mere  speck  of 
stanch  life  in  the  tumbling  seas,  was  steadily  impelled 
nearer,  they  saw  the  tug  lurch  ahead  of  the  other  vessels 
until  a  line  was  thrown  and  caught  by  Stanhope,  who 
instantly  fastened  it  round  his  waist.  The  rowers  wore 
cork  jackets,  but  he  was  quite  unprotected.  Bare- 
headed, with  his  well-knit  limbs  shielded  only  by  a 
jersey,  loose-fitting  trousers  and  canvas  shoes,  he  had 
declined  to  hamper  his  freedom  of  movement  with  the 
cumbrous  equipment  so  essential  for  anyone  who  might 
be  cast  adrift  in  that  dreadful  sea. 

The  girls,  even  in  their  dumb  agony,  were  dully  con- 
scious of  a  scurry  of  feet  up  and  down  the  stairs.  What 
did  it  matter  ?  They  paid  heed  to  naught  save  the  ad- 
vancing boat,  now  deep  in  the  trough  of  a  wave,  now 
perched  precariously  on  a  lofty  crest.  Whoever  the 
rowers  were,  they  trusted  wholly  to  the  instructions 
given  by  the  gallant  youth  who  peered  so  boldly  into  the 
wilderness  ahead.  The  flying  foam  and  high-tossed 
spray  gave  to  the  lighthouse  the  semblance  of  alter- 
nately lifting  and  lowering  its  huge  frame  amidst  the 
furious  torrents  that  encircled  it.  Nerves  of  steel, 
strong  hearts  and  true,  were  needed  by  those  who  would 
voluntarily  enter  that  watery  inferno. 

Yet  the  men  at  the  oars  did  not  falter  nor  turn  their 
[232] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

heads.  They  pulled  evenly  and  well,  with  the  short, 
deep-sunken  stroke  of  the  fisherman,  and  Stanhope, 
now  that  they  were  almost  in  the  vortex  where  the 
waves  lost  their  regularity,  produced  a  paddle  where- 
with to  twist  the  boat's  head  to  meet  each  turn  and 
swirl. 

Stealthily  the  powerful  tug-boat  crept  in  the  wake  of 
the  smaller  craft,  until  it  became  clear  to  the  girls' 
strained  vision  that  watchful  helpers,  lashed  in  the 
vessel's  bows,  were  manipulating  another  rope  as  a 
drag,  thus  helping  the  sailors'  efforts  to  prevent  his 
frail  argosy  from  being  swamped  by  a  breaking  sea. 

Then  a  miracle  did  happen,  a  miracle  of  science. 
When  the  boat  was  yet  two  hundred  yards  away, 
Brand,  looking  out  from  the  gallery  in  stony  despair, 
suddenly  behaved  as  one  possessed  of  a  fiend. 

"Follow  me!"  he  roared.     "Come,  every  man!" 

He  rushed  into  the  lantern.  As  if  he  wanted  wings 
rather  than  limbs,  he  swung  himself  by  his  hands  to  the 
floor  of  the  service-room. 

Galvanized  into  activity,  those  who  were  with  him  on 
the  ledge  raced  after  him.  They  knew  not  what  had 
happened.  Their  leader  had  spoken,  and  they  obeyed. 

Down,  down,  they  pelted,  taking  the  steep  stairs  with 
break-neck  speed,  until  they  reached  the  oil-room,  with 
its  thousands  of  gallons  stored  in  great  tanks. 

Big  empty  tins  stood  there,  awaiting  the  next  visit  of 
the  tender,  and  Brand  wrenched  the  cover  off  the 
nearest  cistern.  He  scooped  up  a  tinful  of  the  oil. 

"  Bring  all  you  can  carry,"  he  shouted,  and  was  off 
[233] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

again  with  an  energy  that  was  wonderful  in  a  man  who 
had  endured  the  privations  and  hardships  of  so  many 
hours. 

They  understood.  Why  had  none  of  them  thought 
of  it  earlier  ?  In  its  cold  granite  depths  the  lighthouse 
carried  that  which  had  the  power  to  subdue  the  roaring 
fury  of  the  reef. 

The  first  man  to  reach  the  gallery  after  Brand  was 
Pyne,  who  chanced  to  be  nearest  to  him  when  the  hub- 
bub arose.  He  found  the  other  man  flinging  handfuls 
of  the  oil  as  far  to  windward  as  the  thick  fluid  would 
travel. 

"Quick!"  gasped  Brand.  "Don't  pour  it  out!  It 
must  be  scattered." 

So  the  colza  fell  in  little  patches  of  smooth  tranquillity 
into  the  white  void  beneath,  and,  before  Stanhope  had 
piloted  his  boat  half  the  remaining  distance,  the  wave- 
currents  surging  about  the  rock  ceased  to  toss  their 
yellow  manes  so  high,  and  the  high-pitched  masses  of 
foam  vanished  completely. 

The  seamen  stationed  in  the  entrance  were  aston- 
ished by  the  rapidity  of  the  change.  In  less  than  a 
minute  they  found  they  were  no  longer  blinded  by  the 
spindrift  cast  by  each  upward  rush  right  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  lighthouse.  The  two  nearest  to  the  door 
looked  out  in  wonderment.  What  devilment  was  the 
reef  hatching  now,  that  its  claws  should  relax  their 
clutch  on  the  pillar  and  its  icy  spray  be  withheld  ? 

Each  wave,  as  it  struck  to  westward  of  the  column, 
divided  itself  into  two  roaring  streams  which  met  ex- 
[234] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

actly  where  the  iron  rungs  ran  down  the  wall.  There 
was  a  mighty  clash  of  the  opposing  forces  and  a  further 
upward  rearing  of  shattered  torrents  before  the  re- 
united mass  fell  away  to  give  place  to  its  successor. 

Full  twenty  feet  of  the  granite  layers  were  thus  sub- 
merged and  exposed  whenever  a  big  comber  traveled 
sheer  over  the  reef. 

But  these  straight-forward  attacks  were  spasmodic. 
Often  the  eddies  created  by  the  rocks  came  tumbling 
pellmell  from  the  north.  Sometimes  they  would  com- 
bine with  the  incoming  tide,  and  then  the  water  seemed 
to  cling  tenaciously  to  the  side  of  the  lighthouse  until  it 
rose  to  a  great  height,  swamping  the  entrance,  and 
dropping  back  with  a  tremendous  crash.  There  were 
times  when  the  northerly  ally  disdained  to  merge  with 
its  rival.  Then  it  leaped  into  the  hollow  created  by  the 
receding  wave,  and  all  about  the  lighthouse  warred  a 
level  whirlpool. 

Stanhope's  plan  was  to  rush  the  boat  in  when  one  of 
these  comparatively  less  dangerous  opportunities  of- 
fered. He  would  spring  for  the  ladder,  run  up  if  pos- 
sible, but,  if  caught  by  a  vaulting  breaker,  lock  himself 
with  hands  and  feet  on  the  iron  rungs  and  endeavor  to 
withstand  the  stifling  embrace  of  the  oncoming  sea. 
He  was  sure  he  could  hold  out  against  that  furious  on- 
slaught, once  at  least.  He  was  an  expert  swimmer  and 
diver,  and  he  believed  that  by  clinging  limpet-like  to 
the  face  of  the  rock,  he  had  the  requisite  strength  of 
lungs  and  sinews  to  resist  one  if  not  more  of  those 
watery  avalanches. 

[235] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

The  rope  around  his  waist  was  held  from  the  tug. 
The  instant  he  made  his  leap,  the  men  with  him  were 
to  back  water,  the  crew  at  the  drag  to  haul  for  all  they 
were  worth,  and  consequently  pull  the  boat  clear  of  the 
next  wave  'ere  it  broke.  That  is  why  he  selected  a 
handy  craft  in  place  of  the  life-boat  offered  to  him  as 
soon  as  his  resolve  was  whispered  ashore.  It  was  on 
rapidity,  quick  judgment,  the  utilization  of  seconds, 
that  he  depended.  The  unwieldly  bulk  of  the  life-boat 
not  only  detracted  from  these  all-important  consider- 
ations, but  made  it  more  than  probable  that  she  would 
be  capsized  or  touch  the  reef. 

For  the  same  reason  he  timed  his  approach  on  the 
rising  tide.  He  could  venture  nearer  to  the  lighthouse 
itself,  and  the  boat  could  be  rowed  and  dragged  more 
speedily  into  safety.  With  him,  too,  were  men  who 
knew  every  inch  of  the  Gulf  Rock.  He  knew  he  could 
trust  them  to  the  end. 

Although  he  had  mapped  out  his  programme  to  the 
last  detail,  Brand's  inspiration  in  using  the  oil  created 
a  fresh  and  utterly  unforeseen  set  of  conditions. 

Mountainous  ridges  still  danced  fantastically  up  and 
down  the  smooth  granite  slopes,  but  they  no  longer 
broke,  and  it  is  broken  water,  not  tumultuously  heaving 
seas,  that  an  open  boat  must  fear. 

With  the  intuition  of  a  born  sailor,  ready  to  seize  any 
advantage  given  by  human  enemy  or  angry  ocean, 
Stanhope  decided,  in  the  very  jaws  of  opportunity,  to 
abandon  his  original  design  totally,  and  shout  to  the 
men  he  saw  standing  in  the  entrance  to  heave  him  a 
[236] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

rope.  He  would  have  preferred  the  danger  of  the  jump. 
He  almost  longed  to  endure  the  fierce  struggle  which 
must  ensue  before  he  reached  those  waiting  hands.  He 
thought  he  would  have  his  reward  in  the  tense  joy  of  the 
fight,  in  bringing  salvation  to  Enid  and  those  with  her, 
in  seeing  her  sweet  face  again  after  these  days  and 
nights  of  vigil. 

But  the  paramount  need  was  to  succeed.  The  ex- 
traordinary and,  to  him,  quite  inexplicable,  change  in 
conditions  which  he  had  studied  during  tortured  hours 
passed  on  the  bridge  of  the  Falcon  or  the  Trinity  ten- 
der, made  it  possible  to  remain  longer  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  rock  than  he  had  dared  to  hope.  Therefore  he 
knew  it  was  advisable  to  adopt  the  certain  means  of 
communication  of  the  thrown  rope  in  preference  to  the 
uncertainty  of  his  own  power  to  reach  and  climb  the 
ladder. 

Flinging  out  his  right  arm,  he  motioned  to  the  men 
in  the  lighthouse  to  be  ready  to  heave  a  coil.  The  wind 
was  the  chief  trouble  now,  but  he  must  chance  that. 

"'Vast  pulling,"  he  yelled  over  his  shoulder  as  a 
monstrous  wave  pranced  over  the  reef  and  enveloped 
the  column. 

"Ay,  ay,"  sang  out  his  crew. 

Up  went  the  boat  on  the  crest  and  a  fearsome  cavern 
spread  before  his  eyes,  revealing  the  seaweed  that  clung 
to  the  lowest  tier  of  masonry.  In  the  same  instant  he 
caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  lofty  billow  rearing  back 
from  the  rocks  on  the  north. 

Down  sank  the  boat  until  the  door  of  the  lighthouse 
[237] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

seemed  to  be  an  awful  distance  away.  She  rose  again, 
and  Stanhope  stood  upright,  his  knees  wedged  against 
the  wooden  ribs.  One  piercing  glance  in  front  and 
another  to  the  right  showed  that  the  antagonism  of  the 
two  volumes  of  water  gave  the  expected  lull. 

"Pull!" 

The  boat  shot  onward.  Once,  twice,  three  times, 
the  oars  dipped  with  precision.  These  rowers,  who 
went  with  their  backs  turned  to  what  might  be  instant 
death,  were  brave  and  stanch  as  he  who  looked  it  un- 
flinchingly in  the  face. 

"  Heave ! "  roared  Stanhope  to  the  white-visaged  sec- 
ond officer  standing  in  the  doorway  far  above  him. 

The  rope  whirred  through  the  air,  the  boat  rose  still 
higher  to  meet  it,  and  the  coil  struck  Stanhope  in  the 
face,  lashing  him  savagely  in  the  final  spite  of  the 
baffled  gale  which  puny  man  had  conquered. 

Never  was  blow  taken  with  such  Christian  charity. 

"  Back ! "  he  cried,  and  the  oarsmen,  not  knowing  what 
had  happened,  bent  against  the  tough  blades.  The 
tug's  sailors  at  the  drag,  though  the  engines  grinding  at 
half  speed  were  keeping  them  grandly  against  the  race 
not  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  in  the  rear, 
failed  for  an  instant  to  understand  what  was  going 
on.  But  their  captain  had  seen  the  cast  and  read  its 
significance. 

"  Haul  away ! "  he  bellowed  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  and, 
to  cheer  them  on,  added  other  words  which  showed  that 
he  was  no  landsman. 

Stanhope  deftly  knotted  the  lighthouse  line  to  the 
[238] 


The  Way  They  Have  in  The  Navy 

loop  taken  off  his  waist.     He  cast  the  joined  cords 
overboard. 

"Thank  God!"  he  said,  and  he  looked  up  at  the 
great  pillar  already  growing  less  in  the  distance. 

Now,  from  the  kitchen,  owing  to  its  height  above  sea 
level  and  the  thickness  of  the  wall  pierced  by  the  win- 
dow, as  soon  as  the  boat  came  within  fifty  yards  or  so 
of  the  lighthouse,  the  girls  could  see  it  no  longer. 

When  it  dropped  out  of  sight  for  the  last  time  Con- 
stance could  not  endure  the  strain.  Though  her  dry 
tongue  clicked  in  her  mouth  she  forced  a  despairing  cry. 

"Enid,"  she  screamed,  "lean  out  through  the  win- 
dow. It  is  your  place." 

"I  cannot!  Indeed,  I  cannot!  He  will  be  killed! 
Oh,  save  him,  kind  Providence,  and  take  my  life  in  his 
stead!" 

Constance  lifted  the  frenzied  girl  in  her  strong  arms. 
This  was  no  moment  for  puling  fear. 

"  If  I  loved  a  man,"  she  cried,  "  and  he  were  about  to 
die  for  my  sake,  I  should  count  it  a  glory  to  see  him 
die." 

The  brave  words  gave  Enid  some  measure  of  com- 
prehension. Yes,  that  was  it.  She  would  watch  her 
lover  whilst  he  faced  death,  even  though  her  heart 
stopped  beating  when  the  end  came. 

Helped  by  her  sister,  she  opened  the  window  and 
thrust  her  head  out.  To  her  half-dazed  brain  came  the 
consciousness  that  the  sea  had  lost  its  venom.  She  saw 
the  boat  come  on,  pause,  leap  forward,  the  rope  thrown 
and  the  knot  made. 

[239] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

As  the  boat  retreated  she  caught  Stanhope's  joyous 
glance.  He  saw  her,  and  waved  his  hand.  Something 
he  said  caused  the  two  rowers,  for  the  first  time,  to  give 
one  quick  glance  backward,  for  they  were  now  scudding 
rapidly  away  from  the  danger  zone.  She  knew  them; 
she  managed  to  send  a  frantic  recognition  of  all  three. 

Then,  in  an  almost  overpowering  reaction,  she  drew 
back  from  the  window  and  tears  of  divine  relief  streamed 
from  her  eyes. 

"Constance,"  she  sobbed,  "he  has  saved  us!  Look 
out.  You  will  see  him.  I  cannot." 

Yet,  all  tremulous  and  breathless,  she  brushed  away 
the  tears  and  strove  to  distinguish  the  boat  once  more. 
It  appeared,  a  vague  blot  in  the  mist  that  enshrouded 
her. 

"Connie,"  she  said  again,  "tell  me  that  all  is  well." 

"Yes,  dear.     Indeed,  indeed,  he  is  safe." 

"And  do  you  know  who  came  with  him?  I  saw 
their  faces  —  Ben  Pollard  and  Jim  Spence  —  in  the 
Daisy.  Yes,  it  is  true.  And  Jack  planned  it  with 
them.  They  have  escaped;  and  we,  too,  will  be  res- 
cued. It  is  God's  own  doing.  I  could  thank  him  011 
my  knees  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 


[240] 


CHAPTER  XV 
ENID'S  NEW  NAME 

THE  twisted  strands  of  tough  hemp  might  have  been 
an  electric  cable  of  utmost  conductivity  if  its  powers 
were  judged  by  results.  When  willing  hands  had  care- 
fully hauled  in  the  rope  until  the  knot  could  be  un- 
fastened, and  the  end  secured  to  the  cord  connecting 
the  gallery  with  the  entrance,  a  man  was  despatched  to 
warn  Brand  that  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  next  step. 

The  rough  sailor  was  the  messenger  of  the  gods  to 
those  who  waited  on  each  story.  As  he  ran  upwards, 
climbing  the  steep  stairs  with  the  nimbleness  of  a  mon- 
key, he  bellowed  the  great  news  to  each  crowded  door- 
way. Seeing  the  girls  in  the  kitchen,  though  already 
his  breath  was  scant,  he  blurted  out: 

"It's  all  right,  ladies!     He's  done  the  trick!" 

On  the  next  landing  pallid  women's  faces  gleamed  at 
him. 

"Rope  aboard!"  he  gasped.  "They're  tyin'  on  legs 
o'  mutton  now." 

Yet  again  he  was  waylaid  on  the  floor  above.  Hard 
pressed  for  wind,  he  wheezed  forth  consolation. 

"Just  goin'  to  haul  the  bottled  beer  aboard,"  he 
grunted. 

[241] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

It  would  never  to  do  pass  the  hospital  without  a 
word. 

"Beef -tea  an'  port  wine  swimmin'  here,"  he  panted. 

Brand  was  peering  through  the  lantern  door,  await- 
ing this  unwashed  Mercury,  who  caught  sight  of  the 
lighthouse-keeper  'ere  his  shaggy  head  had  emerged 
from  the  well. 

The  man  stopped,  almost  spent.  He  gave  an  off- 
handed sailor's  salute. 

"Haul  away,  sir!"  he  yelled,  and  his  voice  cracked 
with  excitement.  Indeed,  they  who  remained  quite 
coherent  on  the  Gulf  Rock,  on  the  ships,  and  even  on 
the  cliffs  nine  miles  away,  were  few  in  number  and  to 
be  pitied  exceedingly.  There  are  times  when  a  man 
must  cheer  and  a  woman's  eyes  glisten  with  joyous 
tears,  else  they  are  flabby  creatures,  human  jellyfish. 
The  steamboats  snorted  with  raucous  siren-blasts,  and 
although  the  hoarse  shouting  of  men  and  the  whistling 
of  steam  were  swept  into  space  by  the  north  wind  in  its 
rage,  those  on  shore  could  read  the  riddle  through  their 
glasses  of  the  retreating  boat  and  the  white  vapor-puffs. 

The  first  to  grasp  Stanhope's  hand  when  he  swung 
himself  onto  the  deck  of  the  tender  was  Mr.  Cyrus  J. 
Traill. 

"  Well  done,  my  lad ! "  he  cried,  brokenly.  "  I  thought 
it  was  all  up  with  you.  Did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  only  for  a  second." 

"You  thought  it  best  not  to  join  them?" 

"  You  know  that  I  would  gladly  go  now  and  attempt 
it.  But  I  dared  not  refuse  the  better  way.  I  can't  tell 
[242] 


Enid's  New  Name 

you  what  happened.     Something  stilled  the  sea  like 
magic.     Look  at  it  now." 

Assuredly  the  waves  were  breaking  again  around  the 
pillar  with  all  their  wonted  ferocity,  but  one  among  the 
Trinity  House  officers  noticed  a  smooth,  oily  patch 
floating  past  the  vessel. 

"By  Jove!"  he  shouted,  "Brand  helped  you  at  the 
right  moment.  He  threw  some  gallons  of  colza  over- 
board." 

Traill,  a  bronzed,  spare,  elderly  man,  tall  and  straight, 
with  eyes  set  deep  beneath  heavy  eyebrows,  went  to 
Jim  Spence  and  Ben  Pollard  where  they  were  helping 
to  sling  the  Daisy  up  to  the  davits. 

"I  said  five  hundred  between  you,"  he  briefly  an- 
nounced. "If  the  rope  holds,  and  the  three  people  I 
am  interested  in  reach  the  shore  alive,  I  will  make  it 
five  hundred  apiece." 

Ben  Pollard's  mahogany  face  became  several  inches 
wider,  and  remained  so  permanently  his  friends  thought, 
but  Jim  Spence  only  grinned. 

"You  don't  know  the  cap'n,  sir.  He'll  save  every 
mother's  son  —  an'  daughter,  too  —  now  he  has  a  line 
aboard." 

Then  the  ex-sailor,  chosen  with  Ben  from  among 
dozens  of  volunteers  owing  to  his  close  acquaintance 
with  the  reef,  bethought  him. 

"You're  treatin'  Ben  an'  me  magnificent,  sir,"  he 
said,  "  but  the  chief  credit  is  due  to  Mr.  Stanhope.  We 
on'y  obeyed  orders." 

The  millionaire  laughed  like  a  boy. 
[243] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"I  have  not  forgotten  Mr.  Stanhope,"  he  said.  "I 
am  sure  your  confidence  in  Mr.  Brand  will  be  justified. 
You  watch  me  smile  when  I  ante  up  your  share." 

On  board  the  tug,  and  on  the  gallery  of  the  lighthouse, 
there  was  no  time  for  talk.  The  vessel,  with  the  most 
skilful  handling,  might  remain  where  she  was  for  about 
four  hours.  She  was  already  more  than  a  hundred 
fathoms  within  the  dangerous  area  marked  by  the  buoy, 
and  there  was  much  to  be  done  in  the  time. 

The  strongest  rope,  the  best  wire  hawser,  has  its 
well-defined  limit  of  strain,  and  the  greater  the  length 
the  greater  the  tension.  From  the  buoy  itself  naught 
save  a  chain  cable  would  hold  in  such  a  sea.  The  tug 
must  operate  from  the  nearer  base.  She  was  pitching 
and  tossing  in  a  manner  calculated  to  daunt  anyone  but 
a  sailor,  and  the  slightest  mistake  made  by  the  skipper, 
the  burly  oil-skinned  man  balancing  himself  on  the 
bridge  with  his  hand  on  the  engine-room  telegraph, 
would  snap  any  line  ever  twisted. 

So,  briefly,  this  was  the  procedure  adopted.  A  stout 
rope  was  bent  onto  that  carried  to  the  rock  by  Stanhope. 
With  this  was  sent  a  whip,  thus  establishing  a  to-and-fro 
communication.  The  rope  itself,  when  it  had  reached 
the  rock,  was  attached  to  a  buoy  and  anchored.  Thus, 
it  could  be  picked  up  easily  if  the  thin  wire  hawser  next 
despatched  should  happen  to  break. 

A  few  words  may  cover  a  vast  amount  of  exertion. 
Before  the   second   line,   with   its   running  gear,   was 
safely  stayed  around  the  body  of  the  lantern  —  even  the 
[244] 


Enid's  New  Name 

iron  railing  might  give  way  — a  precious  hour  had  elapsed, 
and  Stanhope  was  impatiently  stamping  about  the 
bridge  of  the  tender,  though  none  knew  better  than  he 
that  not  an  unnecessary  moment  was  being  lost. 

At  last  a  signaler  stationed  on  the  tug  was  able  to 
ask: 

"  What  shall  we  send  first  ?  " 

And  the  answer  came  back: 

"Water,  milk,  bread." 

All  night  tinsmiths  had  labored  to  enclose  food  and 
clothing  in  water-tight  cylinders  ready  for  transport, 
and  the  shining  packages  now  began  their  voyaging 
from  the  tug's  trawl-beam  to  the  lofty  gallery,  three- 
fourths  of  the  journey  being  through  the  sea.  When 
the  first  consignment  reached  the  rock,  another  lusty 
cheer  boomed  from  the  watching  vessels. 

Stanhope,  at  least,  could  picture  the  scene  in  progress 
behind  the  grim  granite  walls  —  Constance  and  Enid, 
with  others  whom  he  did  not  know,  serving  out  generous 
draughts  to  thirsty  and  famished  women  and  men, 
helping  themselves  last,  and  hardly  able  to  empty  the 
eight-gallon  supply  of  fresh  water  before  they  were 
called  on  to  distribute  a  similar  quantity  of  milk. 

And  then,  the  bread,  the  cooked  meat  all  cut  in 
slices,  the  tinned  soups  and  meat  extracts,  the  wines  — 
for  Traill  had  taken  charge  of  the  catering  and  his 
arrangements  were  lavish  —  what  a  feast  for  people 
almost  on  the  verge  of  starvation! 

The  hours  flew  until  the  tug  signaled  that  she  must 
cast  loose  and  back  away  from  the  reef.  The  tide  was 
[245] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

running  westward  now.  Soon  the  danger  would  be 
active,  and  in  any  case,  the  Gulf  Rock  was  saved  from 
the  possibility  of  famine  during  the  next  forty-eight 
hours.  So  the  hawser,  in  its  turn,  was  buoyed,  and 
Brand's  parting  instruction  was  not  to  attempt  to  re- 
open communication  during  the  dark  hours  of  the 
morning  tide. 

The  wisdom  of  his  advice  was  manifest.  With  fare- 
well trumpetings  the  vessels  scurried  off  to  Penzance, 
and  the  telegraph-office  was  kept  open  all  night  trans- 
mitting the  word-pictures  of  newspaper  correspondents 
to  thrill  the  world  with  full  descriptions  of  the  way  in 
which  the  Gulf  Rock's  famished  denizens  had  been 
relieved. 

The  two  last  packages  ferried  to  the  lighthouse  con- 
tained, not  only  warm  woolen  wraps  for  the  women  and 
children,  but  a  big  bundle  of  letters  and  telegrams. 

Pyne  was  the  postman.  There  were  at  least  twenty 
notes  addressed  to  the  girls,  and  several  to  Brand,  from 
friends  ashore. 

Mr.  Traill,  of  course,  wrote  to  his  nephew  and  Mrs. 
Vansittart.  Naturally,  Pyne  carried  his  own  missive 
to  the  kitchen,  where  he  found  that  Constance  and  Enid 
had  managed  to  wash  in  distilled  water. 

They  were  cutting  sandwiches  and  endeavoring  to 
read  their  letters  at  the  same  instant.  He  bowed  with 
sarcastic  politeness. 

"  I  see  you  are  ready  for  the  party,"  he  said. 

Certainly  he  offered  a  deplorable  contrast  to  them. 
His  face  was  encrusted  with  salt  and  blackened  with 
[246] 


Enid's  New  Name 

dirt  and  perspiration.  His  hands  were  like  those  of  a 
sweep,  but  smeared  with  oil,  which  shone  on  his  coat 
sleeves  up  to  both  elbows.  His  clothes  were  torn  and 
soiled,  his  linen  collar  and  cuffs  limp  as  rags,  and  his 
waistcoat  was  ripped  open,  having  remained  in  that  con- 
dition since  it  caught  in  a  block  as  he  descended  the  mast. 

"Oh,  you  poor  fellow!"  cried  Constance.  "How 
you  must  envy  us.  Here  is  a  kettleful  of  hot  water. 
I  can't  say  much  for  the  towel,  but  the  soap  is  excellent." 

Refreshed,  Pyne  opened  his  uncle's  letter.  The  girls 
were  keeping  up  a  running  commentary  of  gossip. 

"Mousie  (Mrs.  Sheppard)  says  she  hasn't  slept  for 
three  nights." 

"Edith  Taylor-Smith  says  she  envies  us." 

"  That  letter  you  are  reading  now  is  from  Lady  Mar- 
garet. What  does  she  say?" 

"  She  sends  all  sorts  of  love,  and  —  that  kind  of 
thing,"  cried  the  blushing  Enid,  who  had  just  learnt 
from  Jack's  mother  that  Stanhope  had  appropriated 
her  as  his  intended  wife  without  ever  a  proposal. 

"  Is  that  all  —  in  four  closely  written  pages  ?  " 

"  Well  —  she  hopes  soon  to  see  me  —  to  see  both  of 
us—" 

Constance  was  too  kindly  to  quiz  her  sister;  maybe 
she  saw  something  in  Enid's  eye  which  threatened 
speedy  retaliation. 

"Here's  a  note  from  the  vicar.  They  have  held  a 
special  service  of  intercession  at  St.  Mary's." 

"  And  Hettie  Morris  writes  —     Good  gracious,  Mr. 
Pyne!     Have  you  had  any  bad  news?" 
[247] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Enid's  wondering  cry  was  evoked  by  the  extraordi- 
nary way  in  which  the  young  American  was  looking  at 
her.  Some  intensely  exciting  knowledge  had  mastered 
stoicism.  His  eyes  were  distended,  his  lips  quivering. 
He  leaned  with  one  hand  on  the  kitchen  table;  in  the 
other  he  had  clenched  his  uncle's  letter. 

Constance  stood  near  to  him.  That  he,  of  all  the 
men  she  had  ever  met,  should  yield  to  an  overpowering 
emotion,  startled  her  greatly. 

She  caught  his  arm. 

"  Mr.  Pyne,"  she  said  softly,  "  if  —  it  is  any  ill  tidings 
—  you  have  received  —  we  are,  indeed,  sorry  for  you." 

He  pulled  himself  straight,  and  gave  Constance  such 
a  glance  that  she  hastily  withdrew  her  hand.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  he  would  clasp  her  in  his  arms  forth- 
with without  spoken  word.  Her  action  served  to  steady 
him,  and  he  laughed,  so  softly  and  pleasantly  that  their 
fear  was  banished. 

"Girls,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  have  been  parachuting 
through  space  for  a  minute  or  so.  I'm  all  right.  Every- 
body is  all  right.  But  my  head  swims  a  bit.  If  I  come 
back  forgetting  my  name  and  the  place  where  I  last 
resided,  remember  that  once  I  loved  you." 

He  left  them.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  say 
more. 

"That  letter  was  from  his  uncle,  I  suppose,"  said 
Enid,  awe-stricken. 

"It  must  be  something  very  dramatic  which  would 
make  him  act  so  strangely.     Why  has  he  run  away? 
Was  he  afraid  to  trust  us  with  his  news  ? " 
[248] 


Enid's  New  Name 

There  was  a  sharp  vehemence  in  Constance's  voice 
which  did  not  escape  her  sister's  sharp  ears. 

"  Connie,"  said  Enid,  quietly,  "  as  sure  as  Jack  loves 
me,  that  man  is  in  love  with  you." 

"Enid—" 

But  the  other  girl  laughed,  with  a  touch  of  her  saucy 
humor. 

"Why  did  he  look  at  you  in  that  way  just  now? 
Didn't  you  think  he  was  going  to  embrace  you  on  the 
spot  ?  Confess ! " 

"It  was  at  you  he  was  looking." 

"  Not  in  the  way  I  mean.  He  gazed  at  me  as  if  I  were 
a  spirit.  But  when  you  touched  him  he  awoke.  He 
might  have  been  asleep  and  suddenly  seen  you  near  him. 
I  wonder  he  didn't  say, '  Kiss  me,  dearest,  and  then  I 
will  be  sure  it  is  not  a  dream.'" 

Constance  discovered  that  she  must  defend  herself. 

"  Mr.  Pyne  hardly  conveyed  such  unutterable  things 
to  me,"  she  said,  conscious  that  a  clean  face  betrays  a 
flush  which  smudges  may  hide.  "  Have  you  had  a  letter 
from  Jack  that  you  can  interpret  other  people's  thoughts 
so  sweetly?" 

"  No,  dear.  Jack  has  not  written.  I  have  found  out 
the  cause.  His  mother  expresses  the  hope  that  he  will 
be  the  first  to  convey  her  good  wishes.  So  I  think  he 
meant  to  try  and  bring  the  rope  himself.  Dad  knew  it 
and  Mr.  Pyne.  That  is  why  they  did  not  tell  us." 

Constance  gathered  her  letters  into  a  heap.  The 
tiny  pang  of  jealousy  which  thrilled  her  had  gone. 

"Eighty-one  hungry  mouths  expect  to  be  filled  to 
[249] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

repletion  tonight,"  she  said.  "  No  more  gossip.  What 
curious  creatures  women  are!  Our  own  affairs  are 
sufficiently  engrossing  without  endeavoring  to  pry  into 
Mr.  Pyne's." 

"Connie,  don't  press  your  lips  so  tightly.  You  are 
just  dying  to  know  what  upset  him.  But,  mark  my 
words,  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  other  woman." 

Wherein  Enid  was  completely  mistaken:  she  would 
never  commit  a  greater  error  of  judgment  during  the 
rest  of  her  days. 

When  Pyne  quitted  the  kitchen  his  intent  was  to 
reach  Brand  without  delay.  As  he  passed  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart's  bedroom  he  paused.  Something  had  de- 
lighted him  immeasurably  once  the  first  shock  of  the 
intelligence  had  passed. 

He  seemed  to  be  irresolute  in  his  mind,  for  he  waited 
some  time  on  the  landing  before  he  knocked  at  the  door 
and  asked  if  Mrs.  Vansittart  would  come  and  speak  to 
him. 

"  Are  you  alone  ?  "  she  demanded,  remaining  invisible. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

Then  she  appeared,  with  that  borrowed  shawl  still 
closely  wrapped  over  head  and  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said  wearily. 

"  You  have  had  a  letter  from  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  charming  letter,  but  I  cannot  understand  it. 
He  says  that  some  very  important  and  amazing  event 
will  detain  him  in  Penzance  after  we  reach  the  place. 
He  goes  on  —  but  I  will  read  it  to  you.  I  am  quite 
bewildered." 

[250] 


Enid's  New  Name 

She  took  a  letter  from  her  pocket  and  searched 
through  its  contents  until  she  found  a  paragraph.  She 
was  about  to  read  it  aloud  when  someone  came  down 
the  stairs.  It  was  one  of  the  officers,  yet  Mrs.  Vansit- 
tart  was  so  flurried  that  she  dropped  the  sheet  of  paper 
and  bent  to  pick  it  up  before  Pyne  could  intervene. 

"  Oh,  bother! "  she  cried.  "  I  am  dreadfully  nervous, 
even  now  that  we  are  in  no  further  peril.  This  is  what 
I  wish  you  to  hear." 

And  she  read: 

"Nothing  but  the  most  amazing  and  unlooked-for 
circumstances  would  cause  me  to  ask  you  to  postpone 
the  date  of  our  marriage  for  at  least  a  month  after  you 
reach  shore.  This  is  not  the  time,  nor  are  your  present 
surroundings  the  place  for  telling  you  why  I  make  this 
request.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  think,  indeed,  I  am 
sure,  a  great  happiness  has  come  into  my  life,  a  happi- 
ness which  you,  as  my  wife  soon  to  be,  will  share." 

The  American,  whilst  Mrs.  Vansittart  was  intent  on 
her  excerpts  from  his  uncle's  letter,  studied  all  that  was 
visible  of  her  face.  That  which  he  saw  there  puzzled 
him.  She  had  suffered  no  more  than  others,  so  he 
wondered  why  she  wore  such  an  air  of  settled  melan- 
choly. Throughout  the  lighthouse  gloom  was  dis- 
pelled. The  sick  became  well,  the  lethargic  became 
lively.  Even  the  tipplers  of  methylated  spirits,  deadly 
ill  before,  had  worked  like  Trojans  at  the  rope,  as  eager 
to  rehabilitate  their  shattered  character  as  to  land  the 
much-needed  stores. 

What  trouble  had  befallen  this  woman,  so  gracious, 
[251] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

so  facile,  so  worshipful  in  her  charm  of  manner  and 
utterance  during  the  years  he  had  known  her,  that  she 
remained  listless  when  all  about  her  was  life  and  joy- 
ance,  she,  the  cynosure  of  many  eyes  by  her  costumes 
and  graceful  carriage,  cowering  from  recognition  ?  Here 
was  a  mystery,  though  she  had  repudiated  the  word, 
and  a  mystery  which,  thus  far,  defeated  his  sub-con- 
scious efforts  at  solution. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  Her  expression  was  for- 
lorn, compelling  pity  by  its  utter  desolation. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ? "  she  asked  plaintively. 
"Why  has  he  not  spoken  clearly?  Can  you  tell  me 
what  it  is,  this  great  happiness,  which  has  entered,  so 
strangely,  into  his  life  and  mine  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  met  any  man  who  knew  exactly  what 
he  meant  to  say,  and  exactly  how  to  say  it,  better  than 
Cyrus  J.,"  said  Pyne. 

"  But  he  has  written  to  you,  surely.  Does  he  give  no 
hint?" 

"  His  letter  is  a  very  short  one.  To  be  candid,  I  have 
hardly  made  myself  acquainted  with  its  contents  as 
yet." 

"  You  are  fencing  with  me.  You  know,  and  you  will 
not  tell." 

Her  mood  changed  so  rapidly  that  Pyne  was  not 
wholly  prepared  for  the  attack. 

"  It  is  a  good  rule,"  he  said,  "  never  to  pretend  you 
can  handle  another  man's  affairs  better  than  he  can 
handle  them  himself." 

He  met  her  kindling  glance  firmly.  The  anger  that 
[252] 


Enid's  New  Name 

scintillated  in  her  eyes  almost  found  utterance.  But 
this  clever  woman  of  the  world  felt  that  nothing  would 
be  gained,  perhaps  a  great  deal  lost,  by  any  open  display 
of  temper. 

She  laughed  scornfully. 

"Mr.  Traill  is  certainly  the  best  judge  of  those 
worthy  of  his  confidence.  Excuse  me  if  I  spoke  heat- 
edly. Let  matters  remain  where  they  were." 

"  Just  a  word,  Mrs.  Vansittart.  My  uncle  has  writ- 
ten you  fairly  and  squarely.  He  has  not  denied  you  his 
confidence.  If  I  understood  you,  he  has  promised  it  to 
the  fullest  extent." 

"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"Then  what  are  we  quarreling  about?" 

He  laughed  in  his  careless  way,  to  put  her  at  her  ease. 
She  frowned  meditatively.  She,  who  could  smile  in 
such  a  dazzling  fashion,  had  lost  her  art  of  late. 

"You  are  right,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  am  just  a 
hysterical  woman,  starting  at  shadows,  making  moun- 
tains out  of  molehills.  Forgive  me." 

As  Pyne  went  on  up  the  stairs  his  reflections  took  this 
shape  : 

"  The  old  man  shied  at  telling  her  outright.  I  won- 
der why.  He  is  chock  full  of  tact,  the  smoothest  old 
boy  I  ever  fell  up  against.  He  thinks  there  may  have  been 
little  troubles  here,  perhaps.  Well,  I  guess  he's  right." 

In  the  service-room  he  found  Brand  cleaning  a  lamp 
calmly  and  methodically.  All  the  stores  had  been  car- 
ried downstairs,  and  the  store-room  key  given  over  to 
the  purser. 

[253] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  turned  up,"  said  the  lighthouse- 
keeper.  "  Oblige  me  by  opening  that  locker  and  taking 
back  the  articles  I  purloined  recently.  If  the  purser 
asks  for  an  explanation,  tell  him  the  truth,  and  say  I  am 
willing  to  eat  this  stuff  now  for  my  sins." 

Pyne  noticed  that  Brand's  own  letters  lay  in  a  small 
pile  on  the  writing-desk.  With  two  exceptions,  they 
were  unopened.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  glanced  at 
the  superscriptions,  saw  that  they  were  nearly  all  from 
strangers,  and  laid  them  aside  until  night  fell  and  the 
lighting  of  the  lamps  would  give  him  a  spare  moment. 

"  I'll  do  that  with  pleasure,"  said  the  American,  "  but 
there's  one  thing  I  want  to  discuss  with  you  whilst  there 
is  a  chance  of  being  alone.  My  uncle  says  he  has  writ- 
ten to  you." 

"Tome?" 

"Yes.  It  deals  with  an  important  matter,  too.  It 
concerns  Enid." 

Mr.  Traill  has  written  to  me  about  Enid  ?  "  repeated 
Brand,  stopping  his  industrious  polishing  to  see  if 
Pyne  were  joking  with  him. 

"That's  so.  See,  here  is  his  letter.  It  will  tell  its 
own  story.  Guess  you'd  better  read  it  right  away." 

The  young  man  picked  up  one  of  the  sealed  letters  on 
the  table  and  handed  it  to  the  other. 

Setting  aside  a  glass  chimney  and  a  wash-leather, 
Brand  lost  no  time  in  reading  Mr.  Traill's  communica- 
tion. 

Save  that  his  lips  tightened,  and  his  face  paled 
slightly,  there  was  no  outward  indication  of  the  tumult 
[254] 


Enid's  New  Name 

the  written  words  must  have  created  in  his  soul,  for 
this  is  what  met  his  astonished  vision: 

"  Dear  Mr.  Brand  —  I  hope  soon  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance. It  will  be  an  honor  to  meet  a  man  who 
has  done  so  much  for  those  near  and  dear  to  me,  but 
there  is  one  reason  why  I  am  anxious  to  grasp  your  hand 
which  is  so  utterly  beyond  your  present  knowledge  that 
I  deem  it  a  duty  to  tell  you  the  facts,  to  prepare  you,  in 
a  word. 

"  Circumstances  have  thrown  me  into  the  company 
of  Lieutenant  Stanhope.  We  had  a  kindred  inspira- 
tion. He,  I  understand,  is  in  effect,  if  not  in  actual 
recorded  fact,  the  accepted  suitor  of  your  adopted 
daughter,  known  as  Miss  Enid  Trevillion.  I,  although 
an  older  man,  can  share  his  feelings,  because  I  am  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  Mrs.  Vansittart,  a  lady  whom 
you  have,  by  God's  help,  rescued.  Hence,  Mr.  Stan- 
hope and  I  have  almost  lived  together,  ashore  and  afloat, 
during  these  troubled  days.  Naturally,  he  spoke  of  the 
girl  he  loves  and  told  me  something  of  her  history.  He 
described  the  brooch  found  on  her  clothing,  and  a  Mr. 
Jones,  retired  from  the  lighthouse  service,  who  was 
present  when  you  saved  the  child  from  speedy  death, 
informs  me  that  her  linen  was  marked  '  E.  T.' 

"These  facts,  combined  with  the  date  and  Mr. 
Jones's  description  of  the  damaged  boat,  lead  me  to 
believe  that  the  girl  is  my  own  daughter,  Edith  Traill, 
whom  you  have  mercifully  preserved  to  gladden  the 
eyes  of  a  father  who  mourned  her  death,  and  the  death 
of  her  mother,  for  nineteen  years. 

"I  can  say  no  more  at  present.     I  am  not  making 

inferences  not  justified  in  other  ways.     Nor  am  I  setting 

up  a  father's  claim  to  rob  you  of  the  affections  of  a 

beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter.     I  will  be  con- 

[255] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

tent,  more  than  content,  if  she  can  give  to  me  a  tithe  of 
the  love  she  owes  to  you,  for,  indeed,  in  Mr.  Stanhope, 
and  in  all  others  who  know  you,  you  have  eloquent 
witnesses. 

"Yours  most  sincerely, 

"CYRUS  J.  TRAILL. 

"  P.  S.  Let  me  add,  as  an  afterthought,  that  only 
my  nephew  and  you  have  received  this  information. 
The  agonized  suspense  which  the  ladies  must  have  en- 
dured on  the  rock  is  a  trial  more  than  sufficient  to  tax 
their  powers.  If,  as  I  expect,  Mr.  Stanhope  meets  you 
first,  he  will  be  guided  wholly  by  your  advice  as  to 
whether  or  not  the  matter  shall  be  made  known  to  your 
Enid — to  my  Edith — before  she  lands." 

Brand  dropped  the  letter  and  placed  his  hands  over 
his  face.  He  yielded  for  an  instant  to  the  stupor  of  the 
intelligence. 

Pyne,  as  Constance  had  done,  came  near  to  him  and 
said,  with  an  odd  despondency  in  his  voice: 

"  Say,  you  feel  bad  about  this.  Guess  you'll  hate  our 
family  in  future." 

"Why  should  I  hate  anyone  who  brings  rank  and 
fortune  to  one  of  my  little  girls  ?  " 

"Well,"  went  on  Pyne  anxiously,  "she'll  be  Mrs. 
Stanhope,  anyhow,  before  she's  much  older." 

"  That  appears  to  be  settled.     All  things  have  worked 
out  for  the  best.     Most  certainly  your  excellent  uncle 
and  I  shall  not  fall  out  about  Enid.     If  it  comes  to  that, 
we  must  share  her  as  a  daughter." 
[256] 


Enid's  New  Name 

Pyne  brightened  considerably  as  he  learnt  how  Brand 
had  taken  the  blow. 

"Oh,  bully!"  he  cried.  "That's  a  clear  way  out. 
Do  you  know,  I  was  beginning  to  feel  scared.  I  didn't 
count  a  little  bit  on  my  respected  uncle  setting  up  a 
title  to  Enid!" 


[257] 


CHAPTER  XVI 
STEPHEN  BRAND  EXPLAINS 

THEY  were  interrupted.  Elsie,  with  her  golden  hair 
and  big  blue  eyes,  pink  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  appeared 
on  the  stairs.  All  that  was  visible  was  her  head.  She 
looked  like  one  of  Murillo's  angels. 

"  Please,  can  Mamie  'n'  me  see  the  man  ?  "  she  asked, 
a  trifle  awed.  She  did  not  expect  to  encounter  a  stern- 
faced  official  in  uniform. 

"What  man,  dearie?"  he  said,  and  instantly  the 
child  gained  confidence,  with  that  prompt  abandon- 
ment to  a  favorable  first  impression  which  marks  the 
exceeding  wisdom  of  children  and  dogs. 

She  directed  an  encouraging  sotto  voce  down  the 
stairs : 

"  Come  right  'long,  Mamie." 

Then  she  answered,  clasping  the  hand  Pyne  extended 
to  her,  but  eying  Brand  the  while: 

"The  man  who  brought  the  milk." 

She  wondered  why  they  laughed,  but  the  lighthouse- 
keeper  caught  her  up  in  his  arms. 

"  He  has  gone  away,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  but  when 
he  comes  in  the  morning  I  shall  send  for  you  and  you 
[258] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

will  see  him.     You  are  the  little  girl  who  was  injured, 
eh  ?     Are  you  getting  better  ?  " 

Elsie,  having  seen  Mamie  safely  extracted  from  the 
stair-way,  became  voluble. 

"  My  elbow  is  stiff,  but  it  doesn't  hurt.  I  was  feelin' 
pretty  bad  'fore  the  milk  came,  but  Mamie  'n'  me  had 
a  lovely  lot,  an'  some  beautiful  jelly.  Fine,  wasn't  it, 
Mamie  ?  " 

'"Squizzit!"  agreed  Mamie. 

"  I  think  I'd  like  being  here  if  there  was  more  room," 
said  the  child.  "  An'  why  isn't  there  any  washin'  ? 
Mamie  'n'  me  is  always  bein'  washed  'cept  when  we're 
here." 

"  Surely  you  have  not  kept  your  face  as  clean  as  it  is 
now  ever  since  you  left  the  ship?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  put  in  Mamie.  "  We've  just  been  rubbed 
with  a  hanky." 

"  And  sent  out  to  pay  a  call  ?  " 

"Not  'zactly,"  said  truthful  Mamie.  "Mr.  Pyne 
told  us  to  wait  near  the  door  — 

"  That's  an  old  story  now,"  intervened  Pyne  quickly. 
"  Climb  up  on  my  shoulder  and  have  a  look  at  the  sea. 
Perhaps  there  may  be  a  ship,  too." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Pyne  tell  you  ? "  whispered  Brand, 
pretending  to  make  a  secret  of  it  with  Elsie. 

"  There  didn't  seem  to  be  'nuff  to  eat,"  she  explained, 
seriously,  "so  Mr.  Pyne  kep'  a  bit  of  biscuit  in  his 
pocket,  an'  Mamie  'n'  me  had  a  chew  every  time  we 
saw  him." 

"  H'm,"  murmured  the  man,  glancing  up  at  his  young 
[259] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

friend  as  he  walked  around  the  trimming-stage  with  the 
delighted  Mamie.  "  I  suppose  he  asked  you  not  to  tell 
anybody  ? " 

"We  wasn't  to  tell  Miss  Constance  or  Miss  Enid. 
An'  they  tole  us  we  wasn't  to  tell  him  about  the  sweet 
stuff  they  put  in  our  tea.  That  is  all.  Funny,  isn't 
it?" 

Brand  knew  that  these  little  ones  were  motherless. 
His  eyes  dimmed  somewhat.  Like  all  self-contained 
men,  he  detested  any  exhibition  of  sentiment. 

"I  say,"  he  cried  huskily  to  Pyne,  "you  must  escort 
your  friends  back  to  their  quarters.  No  more  idling, 
please." 

"  An'  you  will  really  send  for  us  tomorrow  to  see  the 
milkman  ? "  said  Elsie.  Notwithstanding  his  sudden 
gruffness,  she  was  not  afraid  of  him.  She  looked  long- 
ingly at  the  great  lamp  and  the  twinkling  diamonds  of 
the  dioptric  lens. 

"Yes.     I  will  not  forget.     Good-by,  now,  dearie." 

The  visit  of  the  children  had  given  him  a  timely  re- 
minder. As  these  two  were  now  so  had  his  own  loved 
ones  been  in  years  that  might  not  be  recalled. 

The  nest  would  soon  be  empty,  the  young  birds 
flown.  He  realized  that  he  would  not  be  many  days 
ashore  before  the  young  American  to  whom  he  had 
taken  such  a  liking  would  come  to  him  and  put  forward 
a  more  enduring  claim  to  Constance  than  Mr.  Traill 
made  with  regard  to  Enid.  Well,  he  must  resign  him- 
self to  these  things,  though  no  man  ever  lost  two  daugh- 
ters under  stranger  conditions. 
[260] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

When  Pyne  returned,  Brand  was  ready  for  him. 
The  struggle  was  sharp,  but  it  had  ended. 

"I  would  like  you  to  read  your  uncle's  letter,"  he 
said.  "I  am  clear  in  my  own  mind  as  to  the  right 
course  to  adopt.  If  Mr.  Traill  wishes  to  win  Enid's 
affections  he  will  not  take  her  by  surprise.  Indeed,  he 
himself  recognizes  this  element  in  the  situation.  You 
will  not  rush  away  from  Penzance  at  once,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Pyne,  with  a  delightful  certainty  of 
negation  that  caused  a  smile  to  brighten  his  hearer's 
face. 

"I  may  not  get  clear  of  the  rock  for  several  days. 
There  is  much  to  place  in  order  here.  When  the  relief 
comes,  I  must  help  the  men  to  make  things  ship-shape. 
Meanwhile,  Stanhope  —  or  Constance,  whom  you  can 
take  into  your  confidence  —  will  smooth  the  way  — 

"  No,  sir,"  interrupted  Pyne,  even  more  emphatically. 
"When  you  come  to  know  my  uncle  you  will  find  that 
he  plays  the  game  all  the  time.  If  Enid  is  to  be  given 
a  new  parent  the  old  one  will  make  the  gift.  And  that's 
a  fact." 

Brand  waived  the  point. 

"  The  girls  have  plenty  to  endure  here  without  having 
this  surprise  sprung  on  them,"  he  said.  "I  will  write 
to  Mr.  Traill,  and  leave  events  ashore  in  his  hands." 

So,  for  a  night  and  the  better  part  of  a  day,  the  pillar 
locked  in  its  recesses  some  new  doubts  and  cogitations. 
As  between  the  two  men  a  stronger  bond  of  sympathy 
was  created.  Pyne,  in  those  restless  hours,  was  ad- 
mirably tactful.  He  talked  a  great  deal  of  his  uncle. 
[261] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Soon,  not  only  Brand,  but  the  two  girls,  seemed  to  be 
well  acquainted  with  a  man  they  had  never  met. 

With  the  morning  tide  the  anarchy  of  the  waves 
ceased.  The  children  were  brought  to  the  lantern  to 
witness  a  more  majestic  sight  than  the  arrival  of  the 
"milkman."  With  the  dawn  the  sun  appeared,  and 
the  sea  seemed  to  sink  into  long-deferred  slumber  under 
his  potency. 

The  flood  tide  of  the  afternoon  brought  the  unfailing 
tug,  towing  the  Penzance  life-boat.  The  crane  was 
swung  out  and  Jack  Stanhope,  as  was  his  right,  was 
first  to  be  hoisted  to  the  entrance  and  to  exchange  a 
hearty  hand  grip  with  Brand. 

Behind  the  lighthouse-keeper  were  ranged  many 
faces,  but  not  that  which  the  sailor  sought. 

"  Where  is  Enid  ?  "  he  asked,  after  the  first  words  of 
congratulation  were  spoken.  "Have  you  told  her?" 

"No.  Here  is  Mr.  Pyne.  He  will  take  you  to  the 
girls  and  tell  you  what  we  have  decided." 

The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other  with  frank 
friendliness. 

"  When  we  have  a  minute  to  spare  you  must  take  me 
to  the  gallery  and  explain  just  how  you  worked  that 
trick,"  said  Stanhope.  "Brand's  semaphore  was  to 
the  point,  but  it  omitted  details." 

"That  is  where  I  have  the  pull  of  you,"  responded 
Pyne  with  equal  cordiality.  "  I  don't  require  any  telling 
about  your  work  yesterday." 

"Oh,  people  make  such  a  fuss.     What  is  there  re- 
markable in  guiding  a  boat  through  a  rough  sea  ? " 
[262] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

"I  may  be  wrong,  but  it  looks  a  heap  harder  than 
swarming  up  a  pole." 

In  such  wise  did  young  Britain  and  young  America 
pooh-pooh  the  idea  that  they  had  done  aught  heroic. 

Indeed,  their  brief  talk  dealt  next  with  Enid,  and 
Lieutenant  Stanhope,  R.  N.,  did  not  think  he  was  out- 
raging conventionality  when  he  found  Enid  in  the 
kitchen,  and  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

Constance  and  Pyne  discovered  that  the  tug  as  seen 
through  the  window  was  a  very  interesting  object. 

"You  don't  feel  at  all  lonesome?"  he  murmured  to 
her. 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"  It  must  do  a  fellow  a  heap  of  good  to  meet  his  best 
girl  under  such  circumstances." 

"  Mr.  Stanhope  and  my  sister  have  been  the  greatest 
of  friends  for  years." 

"Is  it  possible  to  catch  up?  The  last  few  days  on 
the  rock  ought  to  figure  high  in  averages." 

"  Jack, "  cried  Constance,  finding  this  direct  attack 
somewhat  disconcerting,  "did  my  father  say  that  any 
arrangements  were  to  be  made  for  landing  ?  " 

"Yes,  miss,"  interposed  a  sailor  at  the  door.  "The 
skipper's  orders  are :  '  Women  an'  children  to  muster 
on  the  lower  deck. ' " 

Then  began  a  joyous  yet  strangely  pathetic  proces- 
sion, headed  by  Elsie  and  Mamie,  who  were  carried 
downstairs  by  the  newly  arrived  lighthouse-men.  The 
children  cried  and  refused  to  be  comforted  until  Pyne 
descended  with  them  to  the  life-boat.  The  women  fol- 
[263] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

lowed,  in  terrible  plight,  notwithstanding  the  wraps  sent 
them  on  the  previous  day.  Each,  as  they  passed  Ste- 
phen Brand,  bade  him  farewell  and  tearfully  asked  the 
Lord  to  bless  him  and  his. 

Among  them  came  Mrs.  Vansittart.  Her  features 
were  veiled  more  closely  than  ever.  Whilst  she  stood 
behind  the  others  in  the  entrance,  her  glance  was  fixed 
immovably  on  Brand's  face.  No  Sybilline  prophetess 
could  have  striven  more  eagerly  to  wrest  the  secrets  of 
his  soul  from  its  lineaments.  Nevertheless,  when  he 
turned  to  her  with  his  pleasant  smile  and  parting  words 
of  comfort,  she  averted  her  eyes,  uttered  an  incoherent 
phrase  of  thanks  for  his  kindness,  and  seemed  to  be  un- 
duly terrified  by  the  idea  that  she  must  be  swung  into 
the  life-boat  by  the  crane. 

She  held  out  her  hand.     It  was  cold  and  trembling. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said  gently,  patting  her  on  the 
shoulder  as  one  might  reassure  a  timid  child.  "Sit 
down  and  hold  the  rope.  The  basket  cannot  possibly 
be  overturned." 

Pyne,  helping  to  unload  the  tremulous  passengers 
beneath,  noted  the  lady's  attitude,  and  added  a  fresh 
memorandum  to  the  stock  he  had  already  accumulated. 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  asked  Brand  from  the  purser,  who 
stood  beside  him. 

"Mrs.  Vansittart." 

Brand  experienced  a  momentary  surprise. 

"  She  seemed  to  avoid  me,"  he  thought,  but  the  inci- 
dent did  not  linger  in  his  mind. 

The  life-boat,  rising  and  falling  on  the  strong  and 
[264] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

partly  broken  swell,  required  the  most  expert  manage- 
ment if  the  weary  people  on  the  rock  were  to  be  taken 
off  in  safety. 

When  Constance  and  Enid,  followed  by  Stanhope, 
reached  the  boat  after  giving  Brand  a  farewell  hug, 
there  was  no  more  room.  The  crew  pulled  off  towards 
the  waiting  vessel,  and  here  a  specially  prepared  gang- 
way rendered  the  work  of  transhipment  easy. 

Mr.  Traill  was  leaning  over  the  bulwark  as  the  life- 
boat ranged  alongside.  He  singled  out  Pyne  at  once, 
and  gave  him  a  cheery  cry  of  recognition.  At  first  he 
could  not  distinguish  Mrs.  Vansittart,  and,  indeed,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  he  was  striving  most  earnestly 
to  descry  one  face  which  had  come  back  to  him  out  of 
the  distant  years. 

When  his  glance  fell  on  Enid,  his  nephew,  who  was 
thinking  how  best  to  act  under  the  circumstances,  was 
assured  that  the  father  saw  in  the  girl  the  living  embodi- 
ment of  her  mother. 

He  thought  it  would  be  so.  His  own  recollection  of 
his  aunt's  portraits  had  already  helped  him  to  this  con- 
clusion, and  how  much  more  startling  must  a  flesh  and 
blood  creation  be  than  the  effort  of  an  artist  to  place  on 
canvas  the  fugitive  expression  which  constitutes  the 
greatest  charm  of  a  mobile  countenance. 

Enid,  having  heard  so  much  about  Mr.  Pyne's  uncle, 
was  innocently  curious  to  meet  him.  At  first  she  was 
vaguely  bewildered.  The  sunken  eyes  were  fixed  on 
hers  with  an  intensity  that  gave  her  a  momentary  sense 
of  embarrassment.  Luckily  the  exigencies  of  the  hour 
[265] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

offered  slight  scope  to  emotion.  All  things  were  unreal, 
out  of  drawing  with  previous  experiences  of  her  well- 
ordered  life.  The  irregular  swaying  of  the  boat  and 
the  tug  seemed  to  typify  the  new  phase. 

Pyne  swung  himself  to  the  steamer's  deck  before  the 
gangway  was  made  fast,  thereby  provoking  a  loud  out- 
cry from  the  deserted  children. 

Grasping  his  uncle's  hand  he  said: 

"Wait  until  you  read  Brand's  letter.  No  one  else 
knows." 

So,  Mr.  Traill,  with  fine  self-control,  greeted  Mrs. 
Vansittart  affectionately,  and  handed  her  over  to  a 
stewardess,  who  took  her  to  a  cabin  specially  prepared 
for  her.  Her  low-spoken  words  were  not  quite  what 
he  expected. 

"  Don't  kiss  me,"  she  murmured,  "  and  please  don't 
look  at  me.  In  my  present  condition  I  cannot  bear  it." 

Relatives  of  the  shipwrecked  passengers  and  crew, 
many  of  whom  were  waiting  in  Penzance,  were  not 
allowed  on  board.  This  arrangement  was  made  by 
Mr.  Traill  after  consulting  a  local  committee  organized 
to  help  the  unfortunates  who  needed  help  so  greatly. 
The  unanimous  opinion  was  expressed  that  a  few  lady 
members  of  the  committee,  supplied  with  an  abundance 
of  clothing,  etc.,  would  afford  prompt  relief  to  the 
sufferers,  whilst  the  painful  scenes  which  must  follow 
the  meeting  of  survivors  with  their  friends  would  cause 
confusion  and  delay  on  the  vessel. 

Pyne,  watching  all  things,  saw  that  Mrs.  Vansittart 
did  not  meet  his  uncle  with  the  eagerness  of  a  woman 
[266] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

restored  to  the  arms  of  the  man  she  was  about  to 
marry. 

She  was  distraught,  aloof  in  her  manner,  apparently 
interested  only  in  his  eager  assurance  that  she  would 
find  an  assortment  of  new  garments  in  the  cabin. 

The  millionaire  himself  was  too  flustered  to  draw  nice 
distinctions  between  the  few  words  she  spoke  and  what 
he  expected  her  to  say.  When  she  quitted  him  he 
walked  towards  the  group  of  young  people.  They  were 
laughingly  exchanging  news  and  banter  as  if  all  that 
had  gone  before  were  the  events  of  a  lively  picnic.  At 
last,  he  met  Enid. 

Pyne  introduced  his  uncle,  and  it  was  a  trying  ex- 
perience for  this  man  to  stand  face  to  face  with  his 
daughter.  In  each  quick  flash  of  her  delighted  eyes, 
in  every  tone  of  her  sweet  voice,  in  every  winsome  smile 
and  graceful  gesture,  he  caught  and  vivified  long-dor- 
mant memories  of  his  greatly  loved  wife  of  nineteen 
years  ago. 

Somehow  he  was  glad  Mrs.  Vansittart  had  not  lin- 
gered by  his  side.  The  discovery  of  Enid's  identity  in- 
volved considerations  so  complex  and  utterly  unforeseen 
that  he  needed  time  and  anxious  thought  to  arrange  his 
plans  for  the  future. 

The  animated  bustle  on  deck  prevented  anything  in 
the  nature  of  sustained  conversation.  Luckily,  Mr. 
Traill  himself,  whose  open-handed  generosity  had  made 
matters  easy  for  the  reception  committee,  was  in  con- 
stant demand. 

Mrs.  Sheppard  had  sent  a  portmanteau  for  Constance 
[267] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

and  Enid,  so  they,  too,  soon  scurried  below  with  the 
others. 

The  life-boat  returned  to  the  rock,  where  the  four 
lighthouse  men  sent  to  relieve  Brand  were  now  helping 
the  sailors  to  carry  the  injured  men  downstairs  and 
assisting  the  sick  to  reach  the  entrance. 

As  soon  as  this  second  batch  was  transferred  to  the 
tug,  the  vessel  started  for  Penzance;  the  Trinity  tender 
would  land  the  others. 

There  was  a  scene  of  intense  enthusiasm  when  the 
steamer  reached  the  dock.  The  vociferous  cheering  of 
the  townspeople  smothered  the  deep  agony  of  some  who 
waited  there,  knowing  all  too  well  they  would  search  in 
vain  for  their  loved  ones  among  these  whom  death  had 
spared. 

The  two  girls  modestly  escaped  at  the  earliest  mo- 
ment from  the  shed  used  as  a  reception-room.  All  the 
inhabitants  knew  them  personally  or  by  sight;  they  at- 
tracted such  attention  that  they  gladly  relinquished  to 
other  hands  any  further  charge  of  the  shipwrecked 
people.  So,  after  a  few  words  of  farewell  for  the  hour, 
Stanhope  piloted  them  to  a  waiting  carriage  and  drove 
away  with  them. 

Mrs.  Vansittart  did  not  emerge  from  her  cabin  until 
the  deck  was  deserted.  She  found  Mr.  Traill  looking 
for  her.  In  a  neat  black  dress  and  feather  hat  she  was 
rehabilitated. 

"Why  didn't  you  show  up  earlier?"  he  asked  in 
good-humored  surprise.  "The  breeze  on  deck  was 
first-rate.  It  brought  the  color  into  many  a  pale  cheek. 
[268] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

And  the  way  in  which  the  crowd  let  itself  go  was  splen- 
did. Look  at  these  waiting  thousands  —  quivering  yet 
with  excitement ! " 

"I  am  worn  out,"  she  said  quietly;  "take  me  to  your 
hotel.  You  have  engaged  rooms  there  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  When  do  you  purpose  leaving  Penzance  ?  " 

"  Well  —  er  —  that  is  part  of  the  explanation  I  prom- 
ised you." 

"We  can  talk  matters  over  in  the  hotel.  Where  is 
your  nephew  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  he  marked  her  air  of  constraint. 

"  Believe  me,  Etta,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  that  what  I 
have  to  tell  you  will  come  as  a  great  surprise,  but  it 
should  be  a  very  pleasant  one." 

"Anything  that  gratifies  you  will  be  welcomed  by 
me,"  she  said  simply.  "You  have  not  said  where 
Charlie  is." 

"Hiding  in  that  shed.  He  refused  Mr.  Stanhope's 
offer  of  a  rig-out  on  board.  In  his  present  disguise  he 
passes  as  a  stoker,  and  everybody  wants  to  see  the  man 
who  saved  all  of  you." 

"Have  you  a  closed  carriage  here?" 

"Yes." 

"  Let  us  go.     Charlie  can  come  with  us." 

Again  he  was  conscious  of  a  barrier  between  them, 
but  he  attributed  her  mood  to  the  strain  she  had  under- 
gone. 

In  the  shed  they  found  Pyne;  with  him  were  the 
orphaned  children ;  there  was  none  to  meet  them.  Kind 
[269] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

offers  were  made  to  care  for  them  until  their  relations 
should  be  forthcoming,  but  the  man  to  whom  they 
clung  would  not  listen  to  any  such  proposal. 

"I  guess  they're  happy  with  me,"  he  said.  "I  will 
see  them  through  their  present  trouble." 

Childlike,  they  had  eyes  and  ears  only  for  the  preva- 
lent excitement.  At  last  Elsie  asked  him: 

"Where's  mamma?  You  said  she  was  sick.  But 
the  men  haven't  carried  her  off  the  ship,  an'  she  wasn't 
in  the  boat." 

"Don't  you  worry,  Elsie,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to 
take  you  to  a  big  house  where  you  will  find  everything 
fixed  just  right." 

His  uncle  and  Mrs.  Vansittart  approached.  The 
lady's  face  was  no  longer  hidden. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  those  children  ? " 
she  inquired. 

"There's  none  here  to  claim  them,"  he  said.  "I 
can't  let  them  leave  me  in  that  haphazard  way." 

"  Let  me  help  you.     It  is  a  woman's  privilege." 

She  stooped  towards  the  tiny  mites. 

"  You  dear  little  babes,"  she  said  softly,  "  I  can  take 
mother's  place  for  a  time." 

They  knew  her  quite  well,  of  course,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  so  much  kinder  and  nicer  now  in  her  smart  clothes 
than  she  was  in  the  crowded  disorder  of  the  bedroom. 

Mamie  looked  at  Elsie,  and  the  self-reliant  Elsie  said 
valiantly : 

"  Mamie  'n'  me  '11  be  glad,  if  Mr.  Pyne  comes  too." 

Mr.  Traill,  who  had  never  before  seen  tears  in  Mrs. 
[270] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

Vansittart's  eyes,  found  a  ready  excuse  for  her  womanly 
sympathy. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said  genially,  "  we  are  all  of  one 
mind.  Come  this  way,  Etta.  And  mind  you  stick 
close  to  us,  Charlie,  or  the  hall  porter  will  throw 
you  out  if  you  attempt  to  enter  the  hotel  in  that 
costume." 

He  rattled  on  cheerfully,  telling  them  how  clothiers 
and  milliners,  and  all  the  store-keepers  in  the  town  if 
they  were  needed,  would  wait  on  them  at  the  hotel. 

"In  a  couple  of  hours,"  he  said,  "you  both  can  ob- 
tain sufficient  things  to  render  you  presentable  for  a  day 
or  two.  Don't  forget  we  dine  at  eight.  We  ought  to 
be  a  jolly  party.  I  have  asked  Stanhope  and  his  mother 
and  those  two  girls  to  join  us." 

"Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Vansittart  faintly,  "you  must  ex- 
cuse me.  I  - 

"  Now,  Etta,  my  dear,  you  will  not  desert  us  tonight. 
Why,  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  only  way  in  which  we 
could  all  come  together  at  once.  I  am  only  too  sorry 
that  Mr.  Brand  cannot  be  present.  Surely  he  might 
have  been  spared  from  further  duty  at  the  lighthouse 
after  what  he  has  endured." 

"They  offered  to  relieve  him  at  once,  but  he  de- 
clined," said  Pyne. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  of  the  carriage  in  which 
they  were  driving  to  the  hotel.  Constance  had  told  him 
of  the  dinner  arrangement,  but  he  wished  to  ascertain 
if  the  definite  absence  of  the  lighthouse-keeper  would 
tend  to  reassure  Mrs.  Vansittart. 
[271] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

He  was  not  mistaken.  She  did  not  reply  at  once. 
When  she  spoke  it  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  will  not  be  very  entertaining,  I  fear,  but  the  young 
people  will  have  plenty  to  tell  you." 

"  For  goodness  sake,  Etta,  don't  class  yourself  among 
the  old  fogies,"  cried  Mr.  Traill.  "  Look  at  me,  fifty- 
five  and  lively  as  a  grasshopper." 

"Please,  is  Mamie  'n'  me  'vited,  too?"  whispered 
Elsie  to  Pyne. 

"You  two  chicks  will  be  curled  up  among  the  feathers 
at  eight  o'clock,"  he  told  her.  "Don't  you  go  and 
worry  'bout  any  dinner-parties.  The  sooner  you  go 
to  sleep,  the  quicker  you'll  wake  up  in  the  morning, 
and  then  we're  going  out  to  hunt  —  for  what,  do  you 
think?" 

"  Candies,"  said  Mamie. 

"Toys,"  cried  Elsie,  going  one  better. 

"We're  just  going  to  find  two  of  the  loveliest  and 
frilliest  and  pinkiest-cheeked  dolls  you  ever  saw.  They'll 
have  blue  eyes  as  big  as  yours,  Elsie,  and  their  lips  will 
be  as  red  and  round  as  yours,  Mamie.  They'll  talk  and 
say  —  and  say  all  sorts  of  things  when  you  pinch  their 
little  waists.  So  you  two  hurry  up  after  you've  had 
your  supper,  say  your  prayers  and  close  your  eyes,  and 
when  you  open  them  you'll  be  able  to  yell  for  me  to 
find  that  doll-store  mighty  sharp." 

"  Say,  Charlie,"  cried  his  uncle,  "  I  never  heard  you 
reel  off  a  screw  like  that  before.     Now,  if  I  didn't  know 
you  were  a  confirmed  young  bachelor,  I  would  begin  to 
have  suspicions.     Anyhow,  here's  the  hotel." 
[272] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

Two  hours  later,  when  uncle  and  nephew  met  in  the 
private  sitting-room  where  busy  waiters  were  making 
preparations  for  dinner,  Traill  drew  the  younger  man 
to  the  privacy  of  a  window  recess. 

"  Charlie,"  he  confided,  "  affairs  are  in  a  tangle.  Do 
you  realize  that  my  marriage  was  fixed  for  today  ?  " 

"That's  so,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 

"  Of  course  the  wedding  was  postponed  by  fate,  and, 
to  add  to  my  perplexities,  there  is  a  new  attitude  on 
Mrs.  Vansittart's  part.  It  puzzles  me.  We  have  been 
friends  for  some  years,  as  you  know.  It  seemed  to  be  a 
perfectly  natural  outcome  of  our  mutual  liking  for  each 
other  that  we  should  agree  to  pass  our  declining  years 
together.  She  is  a  very  beautiful  and  accomplished 
woman,  but  she  makes  no  secret  of  her  age,  and  the 
match  was  a  suitable  one  in  every  respect." 

"You  can  see  as  far  through  a  stone  wall  as  most 
people." 

Pyne  knew  that  his  uncle's  sharp  eyes  were  regarding 
him  steadily,  but  he  continued  to  gaze  into  the  street. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  before  Mr.  Traill 
growled : 

"You  young  dog,  you  have  seen  it  too.  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart  avoids  me.  Something  has  happened.  She  has 
changed  her  mind.  Do  you  think  she  has  heard  about 
Edith?" 

"  Edith !  Oh,  of  course  —  Enid  must  be  christened 
afresh.  No;  that  isn't  it.  It  would  not  be  fair  to 
you  to  say  that  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  But,  from 
[273] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

what  I  know  of  the  lady,  I  feel  sure  she  will  meet  you 
fairly  when  the  time  conies." 

"  Ah,  you  agree  with  me,  then  ?  " 

"  In  admitting  a  doubt  —  in  advising  the  delay  you 
have  already  suggested  —  yes." 

"  She  told  you  what  I  had  written  ?  " 

"  More  than  that,  she  asked  me  if  I  was  aware  of  its 
explanation." 

"  And  you  said  ?  " 

"  Exactly  what  I  said  to  you.  You  are  both  sensible 
people.  I  can  hardly  imagine  that  any  misunderstand- 
ing can  exist  after  an  hour's  talk." 

Mr.  Traill  looked  at  his  watch.  A  carriage  stopped 
at  the  hotel. 

"Here's  Stanhope,  and  his  mother,"  cried  Pyne;  so 
his  uncle  hurried  off  to  receive  his  guests. 

Lady  Margaret  was  a  well-preserved  woman  of  aris- 
tocratic pose.  But  her  serenity  was  disturbed.  Al- 
though the  land  was  ringing  with  the  fame  of  her  son's 
exploit,  and  her  mother's  heart  was  throbbing  with 
pride,  there  had  been  tearful  hours  of  vigil  for  her. 
Not  without  a  struggle  had  she  abandoned  her  hope 
that  he  would  make  a  well-endowed  match. 

When  Constance  and  Enid  arrived  she  was  very 
stately  and  dignified,  scrutinizing,  with  all  a  mother's 
incredulity,  the  girl  who  had  caused  her  to  capitulate. 

But  Enid  scored  a  prompt  success.  She  swept  aside 
the  almost  unconscious  reserve  with  which  Jack's 
mother  greeted  her. 

"You  knew,"  she  murmured  wistfully.  "We  did 
[274] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

not.  They  would  not  tell  us.  How  you  must  have 
suffered  until  the  news  came  that  he  had  escaped." 

Lady  Margaret  drew  the  timid  girl  nearer  and  kissed 
her. 

"  My  dear,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  beginning  to  un- 
derstand why  Jack  loves  you.  He  is  my  only  son,  but 
you  are  worthy  of  him." 

Mrs.  Vansittart's  appearance  created  a  timely  diver- 
sion. She  had  obtained  a  black  lace  dress.  It  ac- 
centuated the  settled  pallor  of  her  face,  but  she  was 
perfectly  self-possessed,  and  uttered  a  nice  womanly 
compliment  to  the  two  girls,  who  wore  white  demi- 
toilette  costumes. 

"  You  look  delightful,"  she  said.  "  When  all  is  said 
and  done,  we  women  should  never  despise  our  ward- 
robe. That  marvelous  lighthouse  had  one  grave  de- 
fect in  my  eyes.  It  was  dreadfully  callous  to  feminine 
requirements." 

Here  was  a  woman  rejuvenated,  restored  to  her  nat- 
ural surroundings.  They  accounted  for  the  subtle 
change  in  her  by  the  fact  that  they  had  seen  her  hitherto 
under  unfavorable  conditions.  Even  Pyne,  not  wholly 
pleased  with  her  in  the  past,  found  his  critical  judgment 
yielding  when  she  apologized  sweetly  to  Lady  Margaret 
for  her  tardiness. 

"There  were  two  children  saved  from  the  wreck. 
Poor  little  mites,  how  they  revelled  in  a  hot  bath!  I 
could  not  leave  them  until  they  were  asleep." 

"I  needed  two  hot  baths,"  said  Pyne.  "No.  1  dug 
[275] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

me  out  of  the  shell,  and  No.  2  helped  me  to  recognize 
myself." 

During  dinner  there  was  much  to  tell  and  to  hear. 
Mrs.  Vansittart  said  little,  save  to  interpose  a  word  now 
and  then  when  Constance  or  Enid  would  have  skimmed 
too  lightly  the  record  of  their  own  services. 

They  did  not  hurry  over  the  meal.  All  were  in  the 
best  possible  spirits,  and  the  miseries  of  the  Gulf  Rock 
might  never  have  existed  for  this  lively  company  were 
it  not  that  four  among  them  bore  clear  tokens  of  the 
deprivations  they  had  endured. 

A  waiter  interrupted  their  joyous  chatter  at  its  high- 
est. He  bent  over  Mr.  Traill  and  discreetly  conveyed 
some  communication. 

"I  am  delighted,"  cried  the  millionaire  heartily. 
"Show  him  in  at  once." 

He  rose  from  his  chair  to  do  honor  to  an  unexpected 
guest. 

"You  will  all  be  pleased  to  hear,"  he  explained, 
"  that  Mr.  Brand  is  ashore,  and  has  come  to  see  us." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  stifled  the  cry  on  her  lips.  The 
slight  color  which  had  crept  into  her  pale  cheeks 
yielded  to  a  deathly  hue.  It  chanced  that  the  others 
were  looking  expectantly  towards  the  door  and  did  not 
notice  her. 

Brand  entered.  In  acknowledging  Mr.  Traill's  cor- 
dial welcome  he  smilingly  explained  his  presence. 

"  My  superiors  sent  me  emphatic  orders  to  clear  out," 
he  said,  "  so  I  had  no  option  but  to  obey.     I  conveyed 
Mr.  Emmett  to  suitable  quarters  and  hastened  home, 
[276] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

but  found  that  the  girls  were  playing  truant.  My 
housekeeper  insisted  that  I  should  eat,  else  she  would 
not  be  satisfied  that  I  still  lived,  but  I  came  here  as 
quickly  as  possible." 

At  that  instant  his  glance,  traveling  from  one  to 
another  of  those  present,  fell  on  Mrs.  Vansittart. 

He  stood  as  one  petrified.  The  kindly  words  of  his 
host,  the  outspoken  glee  of  the  girls  at  his  appearance, 
died  away  in  his  ears  in  hollow  echoes.  His  eyes, 
frowning  beneath  wrinkled  brows,  seemed  to  ask  if  he 
were  not  the  victim  of  some  unnerving  hallucination. 
They  were  fixed  on  Mrs.  Vansittart's  face  with  an  all- 
absorbing  intensity,  and  his  set  lips  and  clenched  hands 
showed  how  utterly  irresistible  was  the  knowledge  that, 
indeed,  he  was  not  deceived  —  that  he  was  gazing  at  a 
living,  breathing  personality,  and  not  at  some  phantom 
product  of  a  surcharged  brain. 

She,  too,  yielding  before  the  suddenness  of  an  ordeal 
she  had  striven  to  avoid,  betrayed  by  her  laboring  bosom 
that  she  was  under  the  spell  of  some  excitement  of  over- 
whelming power. 

She  managed  to  gain  her  feet.  The  consciousness 
that  Constance,  Enid,  Lady  Margaret  even,  were  look- 
ing at  her  and  at  Brand  with  amazed  anxiety,  served  to 
strengthen  her  for  a  supreme  effort. 

"  Mr.  Stephen  Brand  —  and  I  —  are  old  acquaint- 
ances," she  gasped.  "  He  may  misunderstand  —  my 
presence  here  —  tonight.  Indeed  —  in  this  instance  — 
I  am  not  to  blame.  I  could  not  —  help  myself.  I  am 
[277] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

always  —  trying  to  explain  —  but  somehow  —  I  never 
succeed.  Oh ! " 

With  an  agonized  sigh  she  swayed  listlessly  and 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Pyne  caught  her. 

But  she  was  desperately  determined  not  to  faint  — 
there.  This  was  her  world,  the  world  of  society.  She 
would  not  yield  in  its  presence. 

Her  eyes  wandered  vaguely,  helplessly,  from  the  face 
of  the  man  towards  the  others.  Constance  had  has- 
tened to  her  assistance,  and  the  knowledge  that  this  was 
so  seemed  to  stimulate  her  to  a  higher  degree.  With 
fine  courage  she  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  and  sum- 
moned a  wan  smile  to  her  aid. 

"You  will  forgive  me  —  if  I  leave  you,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  am  so  tired  —  so  very  tired." 

She  walked  resolutely  towards  the  door.  Brand  drew 
aside  that  she  might  pass.  He  looked  at  her  no  more. 
His  wondering  daughter  saw  that  big  drops  of  perspira- 
tion stood  on  his  forehead. 

Mr.  Traill,  no  less  astonished  than  the  rest,  offered 
to  conduct  Mrs.  Vansittart  to  her  room. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  will  go  alone.  I  am  used  to  it 
now,  after  so  many  years." 

There  was  a  ring  of  heartfelt  bitterness  in  her  voice 
which  appealed  to  more  than  one  of  the  silent  listeners. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her,  Brand  seemed  to  re- 
cover his  senses. 

"  I  must  ask  your  pardon,  Mr.  Traill,"  he  said  quietly. 
-"  I  assume  that  the  lady  who  has  just  left  us  did  not  ex- 
pect to  see  me  here  tonight.  It  would  be  idle  to  deny 
[278] 


Stephen  Brand  Explains 

that  the  meeting  was  a  shock  to  both  of  us.  It  revived 
painful  memories." 

Mr.  Traill,  scarce  knowing  what  he  said,  so  taken 
aback  was  he,  exclaimed  hastily: 

"  Mrs.  Vansittart  claimed  you  as  an  old  acquaintance. 
The  odd  thing  is  that  you,  at  any  rate,  did  not  discover 
that  fact  earlier." 

The  lighthouse-keeper  looked  round  the  table.  He 
saw  pain  in  many  eyes,  but  in  Pyne's  steady  gaze  there 
was  encouragement. 

"Mrs.  Vansittart!"  he  said  slowly.  "Is  that  her 
name  ?  I  did  not  know.  How  should  I,  the  recluse, 
hear  of  her  ?  And  in  your  first  message  to  the  rock 
you  called  her  Etta.  When  /  knew  her  her  name 
was  Nanette,  for  the  lady  who  calls  herself  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart was  my  wife,  is  yet  for  aught  I  know  to  the 
contrary." 

"  Father ! "  Constance  clung  to  him  in  utmost  agita- 
tion. "Do  you  mean  that  she  is  my  mother?" 

"Yes,  dear  one,  she  is.  But  let  us  go  now.  I  fear 
my  home-coming  has  brought  misery  in  its  train.  I  am 
sorry  indeed.  It  was  wholly  unexpected.  Poor  Nan- 
ette !  She  ever  deceived  herself.  I  suppose  she  hoped 
to  avoid  me,  as  if  fate  forgot  the  tears  in  the  comedy  of 
life." 

"  Can  I  not  go  to  her  ?  "  asked  Constance,  white-faced 
and  trembling. 

"  No,  my  child,  you  cannot.  Has  she  claimed  you  ? 
She  cast  you  off  once.  I  might  have  forgiven  her  many 
things  —  never  that.  Come,  Enid !  What  need  for 
[279] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

your  tears?  We  faced  worse  troubles  together  three 
days  ago,  and  you,  at  any  rate,  can  look  foward  to 
happiness.  Good-by,  Lady  Margaret,  and  you,  too, 
Mr.  Traill.  I  will  see  you  tomorrow,  I  hope.  Forgive 
me  for  my  unconscious  share  in  this  night's  suffering." 


[280] 


CHAPTER  XVII 
MRS.  VANSITTART  GOES  HOME 

STEPHEN  BRAND  and  the  two  girls  passed  silently 
down  the  broad  stairs  of  the  hotel  unaccompanied  by 
any  of  the  others.  There  was  nothing  incomprehen- 
sible in  this,  nor  any  savor  of  discourtesy. 

In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Traill  was  so  profoundly 
shocked  by  the  lighthouse-keeper's  revelation  that  he 
collapsed  into  a  chair  and  remained  there,  bowed  and 
wordless,  for  many  minutes.  Both  Pyne  and  Stanhope 
did  move  towards  the  door,  but  Enid,  watchful,  self- 
sacrificing,  eager  to  save  those  she  loved  from  further 
pain,  telegraphed  an  emphatic  order  to  Stanhope  to  re- 
main where  he  was,  and  Pyne  murmured  to  him: 

"Guess  she's  right,  anyhow.  We'll  all  feel  a  heap 
better  in  the  morning." 

The  person  who  exhibited  the  clearest  signs  of  dis- 
tress was  Lady  Margaret.  Her  position  was  one  of 
extraordinary  difficulty.  Three  of  the  actors  in  the 
breathless  scene  which  had  been  sprung  on  her  with 
the  suddenness  of  an  explosion  were  absolute  strangers 
in  her  life  before  that  evening. 
[281] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Brand  she  knew,  indeed,  but  only  by  sight.  She  had 
met  Constance  and  Enid  occasionally,  at  arm's  length, 
so  to  speak,  regarding  them  truly  as  dangerous  young 
persons  where  marriageable  sons  were  concerned.  Enid 
had  justified  her  suspicions,  and  her  ladyship  had 
yielded  so  far  as  to  give  her  approval  to  an  engagement 
she  could  not  prevent. 

Circumstances  had  conspired  to  force  her  hand. 
Stanhope,  being  an  outspoken  young  man,  had  made 
no  secret  of  his  desperate  resolve  to  rescue  Enid,  so  the 
newspapers  supplied  the  remainder  of  the  romance,  and 
even  Lady  Margaret  herself  had  contributed  to  it  under 
the  magnetic  influence  of  the  hour. 

It  was  one  thing,  however,  to  be  thrilled  with  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  rock-bound  people,  but  quite  another  to 
figure  prominently  in  connection  with  a  social  scandal 
of  the  first  magnitude.  She  knew  Penzance  too  well  to 
hope  that  the  ineident  would  sink  into  oblivion.  Ob- 
viously, the  matter  could  not  rest  in  its  present  stage. 
She  must  expect  disagreeable  disclosures,  significant 
head-shakings  of  those  who  knew  little  and  wanted  to 
know  more.  All  the  tea-table  artillery  of  a  small  town 
would  be  focused  on  her  defensive  position  were  she 
loyal  to  the  girl  whom  her  son  had  chosen  as  his  help- 
mate. 

This  same  son,  too,  after  he  had  recovered  from  the 
amazement  of  Mrs.  Vansittart's  dramatic  departure  and 
Brand's  admission,  betrayed  a  composure  that  was  dis- 
tinctly irritating. 

"You  won't  mind  if  we  smoke,  mother,"  he  said. 
[282] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

"The  situation  requires  tobacco.  Don't  you  feel  like 
that,  Pyne  ?  " 

"  If  Lady  Margaret  doesn't  object,  I  admit  that  differ- 
ent sorts  of  poison  might  act  as  tonics,"  answered  Pyne. 
"  Here,  uncle,  try  a  brandy  and  soda.  Lady  Margaret, 
a  glass  of  champagne.  I've  been  expecting  a  disturb- 
ance, but  didn't  look  for  it  tonight." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  Charlie  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Traill, 
rising  and  stretching  his  limbs  as  a  man  who  tests  his 
bones  after  a  heavy  fall. 

"It  was  hanging  around,  just  as  one  prophesies  a 
storm  after  an  electrical  feeling  in  the  air.  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart recognized  Brand,  and  made  her  calculations 
accordingly.  Let  us  give  her  the  credit  due  to  her. 
As  soon  as  she  discovered  him,  the  marriage  project 
was  off." 

"  I  had  that  kind  of  impression  myself.  Glad  I  men- 
tioned it  to  you,  now." 

"  Of  course  you  are.  I'll  bet  any  reasonable  sum 
that  Mrs.  Vansittart  intended  to  leave  Penzance  to- 
morrow as  soon  as  she  had  made  you  understand  that 
she  could  not,  under  any  circumstances,  become  my 
aunt." 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  Mr.  TrailFs  face. 
His  nephew's  way  of  putting  things  was  delightfully 
unequivocal. 

"  What  we  are  apt  to  lose  sight  of,"  continued  Pyne, 

"  is  the  manner  in  which  Brand  received  what  must  have 

been  a  staggering  blow.     He  met  his  wife  tonight  after 

a  separation  of  more  than  twenty  years.     And  how  he 

[283] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

took  it!  When  he  spoke,  it  was  really  in  her  behalf. 
The  thing  is  too  amazing.  Of  course,  now  that  the 
thunder  and  lightning  have  started,  the  sky  will  clear 
all  the  sooner." 

"Unhappily  such  affairs  do  not  arrange  themselves 
so  readily,"  snapped  Lady  Margaret.  She  was  becom- 
ing more  angry  with  each  wave  of  reflection.  "  Young 
men  like  you  do  not  realize  the  effect  of  such  —  such 
unpleasant  exposures  on  family  life.  How  will  the 
early  history  of  her  parents  affect  the  future  of  Con- 
stance Brand  ?  As  for  the  other  girl  — 

Her  ladyship  threw  up  her  hands  in  helpless  aban- 
donment. To  her  mind,  the  adoption  of  poor  Enid, 
the  sea-waif,  assumed  a  darker  appearance  now  that 
Brand's  matrimonial  adventures  revealed  sinister  feat- 
ures. 

Jack  Stanhope  caught  her  by  the  shoulder. 

"Mother,"  he  cried,  "before  you  say  another  word 
let  me  tell  you  something  you  ought  to  know.  Enid  is 
Mr.  Traill's  daughter!" 

Now  this  good  woman  loved  her  son  dearly.  All  her 
thoughts  were  of  him  and  for  him.  Her  look  of  blank 
incredulity  yielded  to  the  confirmation  she  saw  writ  on 
all  three  faces. 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"Apparently  I  am  the  last  person  to  be  taken  into 
anybody's  confidence,"  she  sobbed. 

"Madam,"  said  Mr.  Traill,  bending  over  her,  "in 
this  instance,  at  least,  you  have  no  cause  to  feel  ag- 
grieved. Neither  the  girl  herself,  nor  her  sister  by 
[284] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

adoption,  nor  Mrs.  Vansittart,  to  whom,  until  the  past 
half-hour,  I  considered  myself  to  be  engaged,  is  aware 
of  the  undoubted  fact  which  your  son  has  just  told  you. 
Let  me  say  that  I,  as  her  father,  am  proud  to  think  she 
has  won  the  affections  of  such  a  man  as  Stanhope. 
There  is  no  reason  why  you,  his  mother,  should  not  be 
equally  satisfied  with  the  pedigree  and  prospects  of  my 
daughter." 

His  calm  assumption  of  a  rank  equal  if  not  superior 
to  her  own  was  convincing  to  a  woman  of  her  tempera- 
ment. Assuredly  that  evening  was  a  memorable  one 
to  her  ladyship.  The  repose  of  Vere  de  Vere  was 
rudely  shocked  for  once.  Nevertheless,  the  knowledge 
that  her  lifelong  ambition  had  been  realized  in  a  way 
little  dreamed  of  by  any  of  those  most  concerned  was 
in  itself  consoling.  Mr.  Traill,  quite  unconsciously, 
loomed  large  in  the  social  eye  of  Penzance,  and  the 
widowed  lady  had  not  been  so  long  withdrawn  from  the 
wealth-worshiping  world  of  London  as  to  be  wholly 
unleavened  with  the  worship  of  the  golden  calf. 

So  it  was  with  quickened  interest  that  she  set  herself 
to  listen  to  the  story  of  Enid's  parentage,  and,  if  her 
fear  of  local  gossip-mongers  shrank  as  her  perception 
of  Enid's  real  social  position  increased,  much  may  be 
forgiven  to  the  motherly  sentiment  that  no  wife  can  be 
too  good  for  an  excellent  son. 

Meanwhile  Brand  and  the  sorrow-laden  girls,  ushered 
by  obsequious  servants  to  the  entrance  hall,  were  con- 
strained to  comfort  themselves  with  true  British  phlegm 
in  view  of  the  interest  caused  by  their  appearance. 
[285] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

The  hour  was  not  late,  about  half  past  nine.  Even 
whilst  the  hall  porter  was  summoning  a  cab  the  news 
spread,  within  and  without,  that  the  lighthouse-keeper 
and  his  daughters,  whose  exploits  filled  the  minds  of  all 
men,  were  standing  near  the  door. 

Several  people,  complete  strangers,  came  to  them  and 
offered  warm  congratulations.  A  smart  journalist 
pressed  forward  and  wove  his  own  complimentary  ut- 
terances into  an  interview.  A  crowd  gathered  quickly 
on  the  pavement.  Policemen,  those  marshals  of  every 
English  demonstration,  cleared  a  path  for  them  through 
the  throng.  So,  with  smiling  words  on  their  lips  and 
anguish  in  their  hearts,  they  made  a  triumphal  exit. 
How  little  could  the  friendly  enthusiasts  who  cheered 
them  realize  that  these  three  had  been  atrophied  by  the 
deadly  malevolence  of  fate  in  the  very  hour  when  a 
great  achievement  had  ended  happily. 

Enid  suffered  almost  as  keenly  as  Brand  and  his 
daughter.  Their  joys  and  sorrows  were  hers.  The 
startling  nature  of  Brand's  avowal  rendered  it  difficult 
for  either  Enid  or  Constance  to  piece  together  certain 
fragmentary  memories  of  Mrs.  Vansittart's  odd  be- 
havior during  her  enforced  sojourn  on  the  rock.  So 
thoroughly  had  she  shattered  those  dimly  outlined  im- 
pressions by  the  quietly  vivacious  charm  of  her  manner 
at  dinner  that  they  both  experienced  a  jumble  of  sensa- 
tions. A  terrified  woman,  in  wet  and  torn  clothing,  cow- 
ering in  the  gaunt  interior  of  a  storm-girt  lighthouse,  is  a 
very  different  being  when  attired  in  expensive  garments 
and  surrounded  by  the  luxuries  of  a  first-class  hotel. 
[286] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

It  was  a  relief  to  drive  to  their  cottage  in  silence,  yet, 
so  easily  moulded  is  our  human  clay,  it  was  a  greater 
relief  when  the  tension  of  the  noisy  rattle  of  the  cab  was 
relaxed.  It  cost  some  effort  to  assure  Mrs.  Sheppard, 
a  buxom,  motherly  soul  of  sixty  or  thereabouts,  that 
they  could  not  possibly  eat  any  supper.  The  effort  was 
forthcoming.  They  pleaded  weariness,  and  at  last  they 
were  alone. 

Constance  knelt  by  her  father's  side  when  he  dropped 
listlessly  into  the  armchair  placed  in  his  accustomed 
corner. 

"  Now,  dad,"  she  said,  bravely  unemotional,  "  there 
will  be  no  more  tears.  Tell  me  all  that  I  ought  to 
know." 

Enid  drew  a  hassock  to  his  feet  and  seated  herself 
there,  clasping  her  hands  about  her  knees. 

"  Whatever  she  did  I  am  sorry  for  her,"  said  the  girl 
decisively.  "And  she  cannot  have  been  a  really  bad 
woman,  dad,  or  you  would  not  have  loved  her  once." 

Brand  sighed  deeply.  His  strong  will  had  deserted 
him  for  a  little  while.  He  shrank  from  the  ordeal  be- 
fore him.  Why  should  he  be  called  on  to  sully  the 
mirror  of  his  daughter's  innocence  by  revealing  to  her 
the  disgrace  of  her  mother  ? 

Constance  caught  something  of  the  dread  in  his  soul. 

"  Don't  tell  me  if  it  hurts  you,  dad.  I  am  content  to 
bear  more  than  I  have  borne  tonight  if  it  lessens  your 
sufferings,"  she  whispered. 

He  placed  an  arm  around  each  of  them. 

"  It  is  God's  will,"  he  said,  "  that  I  should  have  to 
[287] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

face  many  trials  at  a  period  when  I  expected  nothing 
but  some  few  years  of  quiet  happiness." 

"Nothing  in  this  world  can  part  us  from  you,"  said 
Constance. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  agreed  Enid  solemnly,  nestling  closer. 
Her  earnestness  was  helpful.  He  smiled  wistfully. 

"You  forget,  Enid,  that  there  is  a  grave  chance  of 
you,  at  any  rate,  leaving  me  for  another,"  he  said. 

She  blushed. 

"  That  is  the  worst  of  girls  getting  married,"  she  pro- 
tested. "They  are  supposed  to  be  delighted  because 
they  are  going  to  live  with  strange  people.  Girls  who 
are  of  that  mind  cannot  be  happy  at  home.  If  I  thought 
that  being  married  to  Jack  implied  separation  from  you 
and  Constance  —  " 

"You  would  give  him  up,  and  weep  your  eyes  out." 
He  pressed  her  pouting  lips  together  as  he  went  on: 
"  Now,  my  dear  ones,  I  wish  both  of  you  to  be  prepared 
for  very  unexpected  changes.  Two  most  important 
events  in  your  lives  have  taken  place  within  a  few  hours. 
Constance,  if  you  saw  your  mother  tonight,  Enid  also 
saw  her  father.  I  have  known  for  two  days  that  Enid's 
father  is  Mr.  Traill." 

For  an  instant,  it  must  be  confessed,  Constance  and 
Enid  alike  feared  that  the  mental  and  physical  strain 
he  had  undergone  had  temporarily  deranged  him.  It 
was  not  sheer  incredulity  but  real  terror  he  saw  in  their 
eyes.  Somehow,  their  self-effacement  in  his  behalf 
touched  him  more  keenly  than  anything  else  had  done 
during  this  troubled  period. 

[288] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

He  bowed  his  head.  A  strong  man  in  agony  cannot 
endure  the  scrutiny  of  loving  eyes. 

"  Enid,"  he  said  brokenly,  "  my  words  to  you  must  be 
few.  Good  fortune  needs  but  slight  explanation.  The 
proofs  of  my  statement  I  do  not  possess,  but  Mr.  TrauTs 
letter  to  me  could  not  have  been  written  by  such  a  man 
if  he  were  not  sure  of  his  facts.  Here  it  is.  Read  it 
aloud." 

He  handed  her  her  father's  plain-spoken  communi- 
cation. Constance,  incapable  of  deeper  depths  of 
amazement  than  those  now  probed,  looked  over  her 
sister's  shoulder.  Together  they  deciphered  the  some- 
what difficult  handwriting  of  a  man  whose  chief  task 
for  years  had  been  to  sign  his  name. 

This  drawback  was  good  in  its  result.  They  per- 
severed steadily  to  the  end.  Then  Enid,  the  comforter, 
broke  down  herself. 

"It  cannot  be  true,  dad,"  she  cried.  "I  have  been 
one  of  your  daughters  all  my  life.  Why  should  I  be 
taken  from  you  now  ?  " 

"I  believe  it  is  quite  true,"  said  Brand  quietly,  and 
the  need  there  was  to  console  her  was  beneficial  to  him- 
self. "Mr.  Traill  speaks  of  proofs.  You  have  met 
him.  I  exchanged  barely  a  word,  a  glance,  with  him, 
but  it  is  not  believable  that  he  would  make  these  solemn 
statements  without  the  most  undeniable  testimony." 

"Indeed,  Enid,"  murmured  Constance,  "it  sounds 
like  the  truth,  else  he  would  never  have  spoken  so  defi- 
nitely of  my  father's  first  claim  on  your  affections." 

Brand  stroked  the  weeping  girl's  hair. 
[289] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"One  does  not  cry,  little  one,  when  one  is  suddenly 
endowed  with  a  wealthy  and  distinguished  relative. 
Now,  I  did  not  spring  this  revelation  on  you  without  a 
motive.  If  a  cleavage  has  to  come  let  us,  at  least,  face 
every  consideration.  Providence,  by  inscrutable  de- 
cree, ordained  that  my  wife  and  I  should  meet  after 
twenty-one  years.  That  cannot  have  been  a  purpose- 
less meeting.  In  my  careless  youth,  when  I  assigned  all 
things  their  scientific  place,  I  have  scoffed  at  presenti- 
ments and  vague  portents  of  coming  evils.  I  retract 
the  immature  judgment  then  formed.  During  the 
height  of  the  hurricane,  when  I  feared  the  very  lantern 
would  be  hurled  into  the  sea,  I  was  vouchsafed  a  spirit- 
ual warning.  I  could  not  read  its  import.  These 
things  baffle  a  man,  especially  one  whose  mind  leans 
towards  materialism.  Nevertheless,  I  knew,  though 
not  in  ordered  comprehension,  that  my  life  was  tending 
towards  a  supreme  crisis.  As  the  storm  died,  so  I  be- 
came normal,  and  I  attributed  a  glimpse  of  the  unseen 
to  mere  physical  facts.  I  was  wrong.  The  coming  of 
that  ill-fated  vessel  was  heralded  to  me.  I  lacked  the 
key  of  the  hidden  message.  Now  I  possess  it.  On 
board  that  ship,  Constance,  was  your  mother.  How 
strange  that  her  advent  should  be  bound  up  also  with 
the  mystery  of  Enid's  parentage!" 

"  Father,  dear,  if  you  can  bear  it,  tell  me  of  my 
mother.  She  knew  me,  and  that  is  why  she  asked  me 
to  kiss  her." 

"She  asked  you  to  kiss  her?"  Each  word  was  a 
crescendo  of  surprise. 

[290] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

"Yes.  One  night  she  came  to  me.  Oh,  I  remem- 
ber. She  wished  Mr.  Pyne  to  telegraph  to  his  uncle. 
When  he  quitted  us  to  take  the  message  she,  too  —  how 
weird  it  all  seems  now  —  admitted  that  she  experienced 
something  of  the  intuitive  knowledge  of  the  future  you 
have  just  spoken  of." 

"I  am  not  surprised.  Poor  Nanette!  She  was  al- 
ways a  dreamer,  in  a  sense.  Never  content,  she  longed 
for  higher  flights.  She  was  a  woman  in  ambition  'ere 
she  ceased  to  be  a  child.  When  I  married  her,  she  was 
only  eighteen.  I  was  ten  years  older.  My  thought 
was  to  educate  her  to  a  somewhat  higher  ideal  of  life 
than  the  frivolities  of  a  fashionable  world.  It  was  a 
mistake.  If  a  girl  harbors  delusions  before  marriage 
the  experience  of  married  life  is  not  a  cure  but  an  incen- 
tive. A  less  tolerant  man  would  have  made  her  a  safer 
husband." 

Constance  would  listen  to  nothing  which  would  dis- 
parage him. 

"  I  hate  to  be  unjust  to  her  even  in  my  thoughts,  but 
where  could  she  have  found  a  better  husband  than  you, 
dad?" 

"Millionaire  indeed!"  protested  Enid,  breaking  in 
with  her  own  tumultuous  thoughts.  "  I  would  not  ex- 
change you  for  twenty  millionaires." 

"My  methods  cannot  have  been  so  ill-considered  if 
they  have  brought  me  two  such  daughters,"  he  said, 
with  a  mournful  smile.  "  But  there !  I  am  only  delud- 
ing myself  into  a  postponement  of  a  painful  duty.  My 
secret  must  out — to  you,  at  any  rate.  When  I  married 
[291] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

your  mother,  Constance,  I  was  an  attache  at  the  British 
Embassy  in  Paris.  Her  maiden  name  was  Madeleine 
Nanette  de  Courtray.  Her  family,  notwithstanding  the 
French  sound  of  her  name,  was  almost  wholly  English. 
They  were  Jersey  people,  recruited  from  British  stock, 
but  two  generations  of  English  husbands  were  com- 
pelled to  assume  the  style  de  Courtray  owing  to  en- 
tailed estates  on  the  island.  There  is  something  quaint 
in  the  idea,  as  it  worked  out.  The  place  was  only  a 
small  farm.  When  we  were  married  the  stipulation 
lapsed,  because  it  was  more  advisable  for  me  to  retain 
my  own  name.  I  was  then  the  heir  to  a  title  I  can  now 
claim.  I  am  legally  and  lawfully  Sir  Stephen  Brand, 
ninth  baronet,  of  Lesser  Hambledon,  in  Northumber- 
land." 

"And  you  became  a  lighthouse-keeper!" 

It  was  Enid  who  found  breath  for  the  exclamation. 
Constance  braced  herself  for  that  which  was  to  come. 
That  Stephen  Brand  was  a  well-born  man  was  not  a 
new  thing  in  their  intelligence. 

"Yes,  a  cleaner  of  lamps  and  transmitter  of  ship's 
signals.  Have  we  been  less  happy?"  A  most  vehe- 
ment "  No !  "  was  the  answer. 

"  Don't  run  away  with  the  idea  that  I  was,  therefore, 
endowed  with  ample  means.  There  are  baronets 
poorer  than  some  crossing-sweepers.  The  estate  was 
encumbered.  During  my  father's  Me,  during  my  own 
until  five  years  ago,  it  yielded  only  a  thousand  a  year. 
Even  now,  after  fifteen  years  of  retrenchment  —  you 
both  forget  that  whilst  I  was  stationed  at  Flamborough 
[292] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

Head  I  was  absent  for  a  few  days  to  attend  my  father's 
funeral  —  it  produces  only  a  little  over  three  thousand. 
Enough  for  us,  eh,  to  enjoy  life  on  ?  Enough  to  satisfy 
Lady  Margaret's  scruples,  Enid,  as  to  her  son's  absurd 
notion  of  matrimony?  Enough,  too,  Constance,  to 
mate  you  to  the  man  of  your  choice,  whatever  his  posi- 
tion?" 

"  Dad,"  murmured  Constance,  "  is  there  no  hope  of 
the  old  days  coming  back  again  ?  " 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  These  things  are  not  in  mortal  ken. 
I  need  hardly  say  that  my  allowance  of  one  third  of 
the  family  revenues  was  barely  sufficient  to  maintain 
a  junior  in  the  diplomatic  service.  Yet  I  married, 
Heaven  help  me,  in  the  pursuance  of  an  ideal,  only  to 
find  my  ideal  realized,  after  much  suffering,  on  lonely 
rocks  and  bleak  headlands.  With  strict  economy,  we 
existed  happily  until  you  were  born.  My  wife,  at  first, 
was  sufficiently  delighted  to  exchange  Jersey  society  for 
Paris  and  the  distinguished  circle  in  which  we  moved 
there.  But  you  were  not  many  months  old  until  a 
change  came.  A  Frenchman,  a  rich  fop,  began  to  pay 
her  attentions  which  turned  her  head.  I  do  not  think 
she  meant  any  harm.  People  never  do  mean  harm 
who  accomplish  it  most  fatally.  I  did  that  which  a 
man  who  respects  himself  loathes  to  do  —  I  protested. 
There  was  a  scene,  tears,  and  wild  reproaches.  Next 
day  the  crash  came.  She  endeavored  to  mislead  me  as 
to  an  appointment.  God  knows  I  only  wished  to  save 
her,  but  it  was  too  much  to  ask  me  to  pass  over  in 
silence  the  schemes  of  a  libertine,  though  he,  too,  was 
[293] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

infatuated  by  her  beauty.  I  discovered  them  in  a  clan- 
destine meeting,  and  —  and  —  my  blood  was  hot  and 
the  country  was  France.  We  fought  next  morning, 
and  I  killed  him." 

Constance  bent  her  head  and  kissed  his  right  hand. 
Here,  at  least,  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  nine  genera- 
tions of  border  raiders,  who  held  their  swords  of  greater 
worth  than  musty  laws. 

Brand's  eyes  kindled.  His  voice  became  more  vehe- 
ment. The  girl's  impulsive  action  seemed  to  sanctify 
the  deed. 

"I  did  not  regret,  I  have  never  regretted,  the  out- 
come of  the  duel.  He  was  mortally  wounded,  and  was 
carried  to  his  house  to  die.  I  fled  from  Paris  to  escape 
arrest,  but  the  woman  in  whose  defence  I  encountered 
him  behaved  most  cruelly.  She  deserted  me,  and  went 
to  him.  Ask  Mrs.  Sheppard.  She  was  your  English 
nurse  at  the  time,  Constance.  It  was  she  who  brought 
you  to  England.  I  never  met  my  wife  again.  I  be- 
lieve, on  my  soul,  that  she  was  innocent  of  the  greater 
offence.  I  think  she  rebelled  against  the  thought  that 
I  had  slain  one  who  said  he  worshiped  her.  Anyhow, 
she  had  her  price.  She  remained  with  him,  in  sheer 
defiance  of  me,  until  his  death,  and  her  reward  was  his 
wealth.  Were  it  not  for  this  we  might  have  come  to- 
gether again  and  striven  to  forget  the  past  in  mutual 
toleration.  The  knowledge  that  she  was  enriched  with 
that  man's  gold  maddened  me.  I  could  not  forget  that. 
I  loathed  all  that  money  could  give,  the  diamonds,  the 
dresses,  the  insane  devices  of  society  to  pour  out  treas- 
[294] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

ure  on  the  vanities  of  the  hour.  By  idle  chance  I  was 
drawn  to  the  lighthouse  service.  It  was  the  mere 
whim  of  a  friend  into  whose  sympathetic  ears  I  gave 
my  sorrows.  It  is  true  I  did  not  intend  to  devote  my 
life  to  my  present  occupation.  But  its  vast  silences,  its 
isolation,  its  seclusion  from  the  petty,  sordid,  money- 
grabbing  life  ashore,  attracted  me.  I  found  quiet  joys, 
peaceful  days,  and  dreamless  nights  in  its  comparative 
dangers  and  privations.  Excepting  my  loyal  servant 
and  friend,  Mrs.  Sheppard,  and  the  agent  and  solicitors 
of  my  estate,  none  knew  of  my  whereabouts.  I  was  a 
lost  man,  and,  as  I  imagined,  a  fortunate  one.  Now,  in 
the  last  week  of  my  service  —  for  I  would  have  retired 
in  a  few  days  and  it  was  my  intention  to  tell  you  some- 
thing, not  all,  of  my  history,  largely  on  account  of  your 
love-making,  Enid  —  the  debacle  has  come,  and  with 
it  my  wife." 

"  Father,"  asked  Constance,  "is  my  mother  still  your 
wife  by  law  ?  " 

"She  cannot  be  otherwise." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  right.  I  am  too  young  to  judge 
these  things,  but  she  spoke  of  her  approaching  marriage 
with  Mr.  Traill  in  a  way  that  suggested  she  would  not 
do  him  a  grievous  wrong.  She  does  not  love  him,  as  I 
understand  love.  She  regards  him  as  a  man  admirable 
in  many  ways,  but  she  impressed  me  with  the  idea  that 
she  believed  she  was  doing  that  which  was  right,  though 
she  feared  some  unforeseen  difficulty." 

Brand  looked  at  her  with  troubled  eyes.  It  is  al- 
ways amazing  to  a  parent  to  find  unexpected  powers  of 
[295] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

divination  in  a  child.  Constance  was  still  a  little  girl 
in  his  heart.  What  had  conferred  this  insight  into  a 
complex  nature  like  her  mother's  ? 

"There  is  something  to  be  said  for  that  view,"  he 
admitted.  "  I  recollect  now  that  Pyne  told  me  she  had 
lived  some  years  in  the  Western  States.  But  he  said, 
too,  that  her  husband,  the  man  whose  name  she  bears, 
died  there.  My  poor  girls,  I  do,  indeed,  pity  you  if  all 
this  story  of  miserable  intrigue,  this  squalid  romance  of 
the  law-courts,  is  to  be  dragged  into  the  light  in  a 
town  where  you  are  honored.  Enid,  you  see  now  how 
doubly  fortunate  you  are  in  being  restored  to  a  father's 
arms  — ' 

"  Oh,  no,  no ! "  wailed  Enid.  "  Do  not  say  that.  It 
seems  to  cut  us  apart.  What  have  you  done  that  you 
should  dread  the  worst  than  can  be  said  ?  And  why 
should  there  be  any  scandal  at  all  ?  I  cannot  bear  you 
to  say  such  things." 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  dad,"  said  Constance,  her 
burning  glance  striving  to  read  his  hidden  thought. 
"Matters  cannot  rest  where  they  are.  You  will  not 
allow  —  my  mother  —  to  go  away  —  a  second  time  — 
without  a  clear  statement  as  to  the  future  and  an  equally 
honest  explanation  of  the  past." 

This  was  precisely  the  question  he  dreaded.  It  had 
forced  its  unwelcome  presence  upon  him  in  the  first 
moment  of  the  meeting  with  his  wife.  But  he  was  a 
man  of  order,  of  discipline.  The  habits  of  years  might 
not  be  flung  aside  so  readily.  It  was  absurd,  he  held, 
to  inflict  the  self-torture  of  useless  imaginings  on  the 
[296] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

first  night  of  their  home-coming  after  the  severe  trials 
of  their  precarious  life  on  the  rock. 

Above  all  else  it  was  necessary  to  reassure  Constance, 
whose  strength  only  concealed  the  raging  fire  beneath, 
and  Enid,  whose  highly  strung  temperament  was  on  the 
borderland  of  hysteria. 

He  was  still  the  arbiter  of  their  lives,  the  one  to  whom 
they  looked  for  guidance.  He  rebelled  against  the 
prospect  of  a  night  of  sleepless  misery  for  these  two, 
and  it  needed  his  emphatic  dominance  to  direct  their 
thoughts  into  a  more  peaceful  channel. 

So  he  assumed  the  settled  purpose  he  was  far  from 
feeling  and  summoned  a  kindly  smile  to  his  aid. 

"  Surely  we  have  discussed  our  difficulties  sufficiently 
tonight,"  he  said.  "  In  the  morning,  Constance,  I  will 
meet  Mr.  Traill.  He  is  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  the 
world.  I  think,  too,  that  his  nephew  will  be  resource- 
ful and  wise  in  counsel  beyond  his  years.  Now  we  are 
all  going  to  obtain  some  much-needed  rest.  Neither 
you  nor  I  will  yield  to  sleepless  hours  of  brooding. 
Neither  of  you  knows  that,  not  forty-eight  hours  ago,  I 
made  myself  a  thief  in  the  determination  to  save  your 
lives  and  mine.  It  was  a  needless  burglary.  I  per- 
suaded myself  that  it  was  necessary  in  the  interests  of 
the  Trinity  Brethren,  those  grave  gentlemen  in  velvet 
cloaks,  Enid,  who  would  be  horrified  by  the  mere  sug- 
gestion. I  refuse  to  place  myself  on  the  moral  rack 
another  time.  In  the  old  days,  when  I  was  a  boy,  the 
drama  was  wont  to  be  followed  by  a  more  lively  scene. 
I  forbid  further  discussion.  Come,  kiss  me,  both  of 
[297] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

you.  I  think  that  a  stiff  glass  of  hot  punch  will  not  do 
me  any  harm,  nor  you,  unless  you  imbibed  freely  of 
that  champagne  I  saw  nestling  in  the  ice-pail." 

They  rose  obediently.  Although  they  knew  he  was 
acting  a  part  on  their  account  they  were  sensible  that 
he  was  adopting  a  sane  course. 

Enid  tried  to  contribute  to  the  new  note.  She  bobbed 
in  the  approved  style  of  the  country  domestic. 

"Please,  Sir  Stephen,"  she  said,  "would  you  like 
some  lemon  in  the  toddy  ?  " 

Constance  placed  a  little  copper  kettle  on  the  fire. 
Their  gloom  had  given  way  to  a  not  wholly  forced 
cheerfulness  —  for  in  that  pleasant  cottage  sorrow  was 
an  unwelcome  guest  —  when  they  were  surprised  to 
hear  a  sharp  knock  on  the  outer  door. 

At  another  time  the  incident,  though  unusual  at  a 
late  hour,  would  not  have  disturbed  them.  But  the 
emotions  of  the  night  were  too  recent,  their  subsidence 
too  artificially  achieved,  that  they  should  not  dread  the 
possibilities  which  lay  beyond  that  imperative  summons. 

Mrs.  Sheppard  and  the  servant  had  retired  to  rest, 
worn  out  with  the  anxious  uncertainties  of  events 
reported  from  the  lighthouse. 

So  Brand  went  to  the  door,  and  the  girls  listened  in 
nervous  foreboding. 

They  heard  their  father  say: 

"Hello,  Jenkins,  what  is  the  matter  now?" 

Jenkins  was  a  sergeant  of  police  whom  they  knew. 

"  Sorry  to  trouble  you,  Mr.  Brand,  but  an  odd  thing 
has  happened.  A  lady,  a  stranger,  met  me  ten  minutes 
[298] 


Mrs.  Vansittart  Goes  Home 

ago,  and  asked  me  to  direct  her  to  your  house.  I  did 
so.  She  appeared  to  be  in  great  trouble,  so  I  strolled 
slowly  after  her.  I  was  surprised  to  see  her  looking 
in  through  the  window  of  your  sitting-room.  As  far  as 
I  could  make  out,  she  was  crying  fit  to  break  her  heart, 
and  I  imagined  she  meant  to  knock  at  the  door,  but  was 
afraid." 

"Where  is  she?     What  has  become  of  her?" 

Brand  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight.  The  girls, 
white  and  trembling,  followed. 

"  Well,  she  ran  off  down  the  garden  path  and  tumbled 
in  a  dead  faint  near  the  gate.  I  was  too  late  to  save  her. 
I  picked  her  up  and  placed  her  on  a  seat.  She  is  there 
now.  I  thought  it  best,  before  carrying  her  here  —  to 
tell  you  — 

Before  Brand  moved,  Constance  ran  out,  followed  by 
Enid.  In  a  whirl  of  pain,  the  lighthouse-keeper  strode 
after  them.  He  saw  Constance  stooping  over  a  mo- 
tionless figure  lying  prone  on  the  garden  seat.  To  those 
strong  young  arms  the  slight,  graceful  form  offered  an 
easy  task. 

Brand  heard  Enid's  whisper: 

"Oh,  Connie,  it  is  she!" 

But  the  daughter,  clasping  her  mother  to  her  breast, 
said  quietly: 

"Dad,  she  has  come  home,  and  she  may  be  dying. 
We  must  take  her  in." 

He  made  no  direct  answer.  What  could  he  say  ? 
The  girl's  fearless  words  admitted  of  neither  "  Yes  "  nor 
"No." 

[299] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

He  turned  to  the  policeman. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Jenkins,"  he  said;  "we 
know  the  lady.  Unless  —  unless  there  are  serious  con- 
sequences, will  you  oblige  me  by  saying  nothing  about 
her?  But  stay.  When  you  pass  the  Mount's  Bay 
Hotel,  please  call  and  say  that  Mrs.  Vansittart  has  been 
seized  with  sudden  illness  and  is  being  cared  for  at  my 
house." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant,  saluting. 

As  he  walked  away  down  the  garden  path  he  won- 
dered who  Mrs.  Vansittart  could  be,  and  why  Miss 
Brand  said  she  had  "come  home." 

Then  he  glanced  back  at  the  house,  into  which  the 
others  had  vanished.  He  laughed. 

"Just  fancy  it,"  he  said;  "I  treated  him  as  if  he 
was  a  bloomin'  lord.  And  I  suppose  my  position  is  a 
better  one  than  his.  Anyhow  he  is  a  splendid  chap. 
I'm  glad  now  I  did  it,  for  his  sake  and  the  sake  of  those 
two  girls.  How  nicely  they  were  dressed.  It  has  al- 
ways been  a  puzzle  to  me  how  they  can  afford  to  live  in 
that  style  on  the  pay  of  a  lighthouse-keeper.  Well,  it's 
none  of  my  business." 


[300] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
ENID  WEARS  AN  OLD  ORNAMENT 

LADY  MARGARET  took  her  departure  from  the  hotel 
at  an  early  hour.  Her  son  went  with  her.  Their  house 
was  situated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and,  although 
Stanhope  would  gladly  have  remained  with  the  two  men 
to  discuss  the  events  of  this  night  of  surprises,  he  felt 
that  his  mother  demanded  his  present  attention. 

Indeed,  her  ladyship  had  much  to  say  to  him.  She, 
like  the  others,  had  been  impressed  by  Mrs.  Vansittart's 
appearance,  even  under  the  extraordinarily  difficult  cir- 
cumstances of  the  occasion.  The  feminine  mind  judges 
its  peers  with  the  utmost  precision.  Its  analytical 
methods  are  pitilessly  simple.  It  calculates  with  math- 
ematical nicety  those  details  of  toilette,  those  delicate 
nuances  of  manner,  which  distinguish  the  woman  ha- 
bituated to  refinement  and  good  society  from  the  inter- 
loper or  mere  copyist. 

It  had  always  been  a  matter  of  mild  wonder  in 
Penzance  how  Constance  Brand  had  acquired  her 
French  trick  of  wearing  her  clothes.  Some  women  are 
rot  properly  dressed  after  they  have  been  an  hour 
\  >sing  in  front  of  a  full-length  mirror;  others  can  give 
[301] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

one  glance  at  a  costume,  twist  and  pull  it  into  the  one 
correct  position,  and  walk  out,  perfectly  gowned,  with 
a  happy  consciousness  that  all  is  well. 

Every  Parisienne,  some  Americans,  a  few  English 
women,  possess  this  gift.  Constance  had  it,  and  Lady 
Margaret  knew  now  that  it  was  a  lineal  acquisition  from 
her  mother.  The  discovery  enhanced  the  belief,  always 
prevalent  locally,  that  Brand  was  a  gentleman  born, 
and  her  ladyship  was  now  eager  for  her  son's  assistance 
in  looking  up  the  "  Landed  Gentry  "  and  other  works  of 
reference  which  define  and  glorify  the  upper  ten  thou- 
sand of  the  United  Kingdom.  Perhaps,  that  way, 
light  would  be  vouchsafed. 

Being  a  little  narrow-minded,  the  excellent  creature 
believed  that  a  scandal  among  "  good  "  people  was  not 
half  so  scandalous  as  an  affair  in  which  the  principals 
were  tradesmen,  "  or  worse." 

She  confided  something  of  this  to  her  son  as  they 
drove  homewards,  and  was  very  wroth  with  him  when 
he  treated  the  idea  with  unbecoming  levity. 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  cried  vehemently,  "you  don't 
understand  the  value  of  such  credentials.  You  always 
speak  and  act  as  if  you  were  on  board  one  of  your  hec- 
toring warships,  where  the  best  metal  and  the  heaviest 
guns  are  all-important.  It  is  not  so  in  society,  even  the 
society  of  a  small  Cornish  town.  Although  I  am  an 
earl's  daughter  I  cannot  afford  to  be  quietly  sneered  at 
by  some  who  would  dispute  my  social  supremacy." 

As  each  complaisant  sentence  rolled  forth  he  laughed 
quietly  in  the  darkness. 

[302] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

"  Mother,"  said  he  suddenly,  "  Mr.  Traill  and  I  have 
had  a  lot  of  talk  about  Enid  during  the  past  two  days. 
I  have  not  seen  you  until  this  evening  before  dinner,  so 
I  have  had  no  opportunity  to  tell  you  all  that  has  oc- 
curred." 

"Some  new  embroglio,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  not  at 
all  appeased  by  his  seeming  carelessness  as  to  what  the 
Dowager  Lady  Tregarthen  or  Mrs.  Taylor-Smith  might 
say  when  gossip  started. 

"  Well,  it  is,  in  a  sense,"  he  admitted.  "  You  see,  we 
are  jolly  hard  up.  It  is  a  squeeze  for  you  to  double  my 
pay,  and,  as  I  happened  to  inform  Mr.  Traill  that  I 
was  going  to  marry  Enid,  long  before  he  knew  she  was 
his  daughter,  it  came  as  a  bit  of  a  shock  afterwards  to 
hear  that  he  intends  to  endow  her  with  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds  on  her  wedding-day.  Now  the  ques- 
tion to  be  discussed  is  not  whether  the  adopted  daugh- 
ter of  a  poor  lighthouse-keeper  who  may  be  Lord 
This-and-That  in  disguise  is  a  good  match  for  me,  but 
whether  an  impecunious  lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Navy 
is  such  a  tremendous  catch  for  a  girl  with  a  great  for- 
tune." 

Lady  Margaret  was  stunned.  She  began  to  breathe 
quickly.  Her  utmost  expectations  were  surpassed. 
Before  she  could  utter  a  word  her  son  pretended  to 
misunderstand  her  agitation. 

"Of  course  it  was  fortunate  that  Enid  and  I  had 
jolly  well  made  up  our  minds  somewhat  in  advance, 
but  it  was  a  near  thing,  a  matter  of  flag  signals  —  other- 
wise I  should  have  been  compelled  to  consider  myself 
[303] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

ruled  out  of  the  game.  Therefore,  during  your  tea- 
table  tactics,  if  the  Dowager,  or  that  old  spit-fire,  Mrs. 
Taylor-Smith,  says  a  word  to  you  about  Brand,  just 
give  'em  a  rib-roaster  with  Enid's  two  hundred  thou', 
will  you  ?  Whilst  they  are  reeling  under  the  blow  throw 
out  a  gentle  hint  that  Constance  may  ensnare  Traill's 
nephew.  '  Ensnare '  is  the  right  word,  isn't  it  ?  The 
best  of  it  is,  I  know  they  have  been  worrying  you  for 
months  about  my  friendship  with  'girls  of  their  class.' 
Oh,  the  joy  of  the  encounter !  It  must  be  like  blowing  up 
a  battle-ship  with  a  tuppenny  hapenny  torpedo-boat." 

So  her  ladyship  —  not  without  pondering  over  cer- 
tain entries  in  the  Books  of  the  Proudly-born,  which 
recorded  the  birth  and  marriage  of  Sir  Stephen  Brand, 
ninth  baronet,  "  present  whereabouts  unknown "  — 
went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep,  whereas  Jack  Stanhope 
never  afterwards  remembered  undressing,  so  thor- 
oughly tired  was  he,  and  so  absurdly  happy,  notwith- 
standing the  awkward  situation  divulged  at  the  dinner. 

Pyne,  left  with  his  uncle,  set  himself  to  divert  the 
other  man's  thoughts  from  the  embarrassing  topic  of 
Mrs.  Vansittart. 

He  knew  that  Brand  was  not  likely  to  leave  them  in 
any  dubiety  as  to  the  past.  Discussion  now  was  use- 
less, a  mere  idle  guessing  at  probabilities,  so  he  boldly 
plunged  into  the  mystery  as  yet  surrounding  Enid's 
first  year  of  existence. 

Mr.  Traill,  glad  enough  to  discuss  a  more  congenial 
subject,  marshalled  the  ascertained  facts.     It  was  easy 
to  see  that  here,  at  least,  he  stood  on  firm  ground. 
[304] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

"  Your  father,  as  you  know,  was  a  noted  yachtsman, 
Charlie,"  he  said.  "  Indeed,  he  was  one  of  the  first  men 
to  cross  the  Atlantic  in  his  own  boat  under  steam  and 
sail.  Twenty  years  ago,  in  this  very  month,  he  took  my 
wife  and  me,  with  your  mother,  you,  and  our  little 
Edith,  then  six  months'  old,  on  a  delightful  trip  along 
the  Florida  coast  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  It  was  then 
arranged  that  we  should  pass  the  summer  among  the 
Norwegian  fiords,  but  the  two  ladies  were  nervous  about 
the  ocean  voyage  east  in  April,  so  your  father  brought 
the  Esmeralda  across,  and  we  followed  by  mail  steamer. 
During  the  last  week  of  May  and  the  whole  of  June  we 
cruised  from  Christiania  almost  to  the  North  Cape. 
The  fine  keen  air  restored  my  wife's  somewhat  delicate 
health,  and  you  and  Edith  throve  amazingly.  Do  you 
remember  the  voyage  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  dim  memory,  helped  a  good  deal,  I  imagine, 
by  what  I  have  heard  since." 

"  Well,  on  the  fourth  of  July,  putting  into  Hardanger 
to  celebrate  the  day  with  some  fellow-countrymen,  I 
received  a  cable  which  rendered  my  presence  in  New 
York  absolutely  imperative.  There  was  a  big  develop- 
ment scheme  just  being  engineered  in  connection  with 
our  property.  In  fact,  the  event  which  had  such  a 
tragic  sequel  practically  quadrupled  your  fortune  and 
mine.  By  that  time,  the  ladies  were  so  enthusiastic 
about  the  sea-going  qualities  of  the  yacht  that  they 
would  have  sailed  round  the  world  in  her,  and  poor 
Pyne  had  no  difficulty  in  persuading  them  to  take  the 
leisurely  way  home,  whilst  I  raced  off  via  Newcastle 
[305] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

and  Liverpool  to  the  other  side.  I  received  my  last 
cable  from  them  dated  Southampton,  July  20th,  and 
they  were  due  in  New  York  somewhere  about  August 
5th  or  6th,  allowing  for  ordinary  winds  and  weather. 
During  the  night  of  July  21st,  when  midway  between 
the  Scilly  Isles  and  the  Fastnet,  they  ran  into  a  dense 
fog.  Within  five  minutes,  without  the  least  warning, 
the  Esmeralda  was  struck  amidships  by  a  big  Nova 
Scotian  barque.  The  little  vessel  sank  almost  like  a 
stone.  Nevertheless,  your  father,  backed  by  his  skip- 
per and  a  splendid  crew,  lowered  two  boats,  and  all 
hands  were  saved,  for  the  moment.  It  was  Pyne's 
boast  that  his  boats  were  always  stored  with  food  and 
water  against  any  kind  of  emergency,  but,  of  course, 
they  made  every  effort  to  reach  the  ship  which  had  sunk 
them,  rather  than  endeavor  to  sail  back  to  this  coast. 
As  the  Esmeralda  was  under  steam  at  the  time,  her 
boilers  exploded  as  she  went  down,  and  this  undoubt- 
edly caused  the  second  catastrophe.  The  captain  no- 
ticed that  the  strange  ship  went  off  close  hauled  to  the 
wind,  which  blew  steadily  from  the  west,  so  he,  in  the 
leading  boat,  with  your  father  and  mother,  you  and  my 
wife  and  child,  followed  in  that  direction.  He  shouted 
to  four  men  in  the  second  boat  to  keep  close,  as  the  fog 
was  terrific.  The  barque,  the  John  S.,  hearing  the 
noise  of  the  bursting  boilers,  promptly  swung  round, 
and  in  the  effort  to  render  assistance  caused  the  second 
and  far  more  serious  catastrophe.  The  captain's  boat 
encountered  her  just  as  the  two  crafts  were  getting  way 
on  them.  Someone  in  the  boat  shouted,  they  heard  an 
[306] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

answering  hail,  and  instantly  crashed  into  the  barque's 
bows.  The  sail  became  entangled  in  the  martingale 
of  the  bowsprit,  the  boat  was  driven  under  and  filled, 
and  the  second  boat  crashed  into  her.  All  the  occu- 
pants of  the  captain's  boat  were  thrown  into  the  sea. 
You  were  grasped  by  a  negro,  a  powerful  swimmer. 
He,  with  yourself  and  two  sailors,  were  rescued,  and 
that  was  all.  Your  father  was  a  strong  man  and  he 
could  swim  well.  He  must  have  been  stunned  or  in- 
jured in  some  way.  The  two  sailors  jumped  from  the 
second  boat  and  clung  to  the  barque's  bobstays.  The 
whole  thing  was  over  in  a  few  seconds." 

Mr.  Traill  rose  and  paced  slowly  to  the  window. 
Pyne  stared  into  the  fire.  There  was  no  need  for  either 
of  them  to  conjure  up  the  heart-rending  scene  as  the 
sharp  prow  of  the  sailing-ship  cleft  through  the  seas 
and  spurned  the  despairing  hands  clutching  at  her 
black  walls. 

Too  often  had  the  older  man  pictured  that  horrific 
vision.  It  had  darkened  many  hours,  blurred  many  a 
forgetful  moment  of  pleasure  with  a  quick  rush  of  pain. 

Even  now,  as  he  looked  out  into  the  still  street,  he 
fancied  he  could  see  Enid's  mother  smiling  at  him  from 
a  luminous  mist. 

He  passed  a  hand  over  his  eyes  and  gazed  again  at 
the  moonlit  roadway.  From  the  black  shadows  oppo- 
site a  policeman  crossed  towards  the  hotel,  and  he 
heard  a  bell  ring.  These  trivial  tidings  restored  his 
wandering  thoughts.  How  the  discovery  of  his  lost 
child  had  brought  back  a  flood  of  buried  memories! 
[307] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"It  is  easy  to  understand  that  I  should  be  fanciful 
tonight,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  cheery  glow  of  the 
fire  and  the  brightness  of  the  room.  "  The  whole  story 
of  the  disaster  centered  in  the  narratives  of  the  sailors 
and  the  negro.  They  all  declared  that  both  boats  went 
down.  The  crew  of  the  barque,  who  ran  to  starboard, 
as  the  leading  boat  was  swamped  and  sank  on  that  side, 
imagined  they  heard  cries  to  port.  But  though  they 
lowered  a  boat,  and  cruised  about  the  locality  for  hours, 
they  found  nothing  but  wreckage.  You,  Charlie,  when 
I  went  to  St.  John's  five  weeks  later,  could  only  tell  me 
that  you  had  felt  very  cold  and  wet.  That  is  all  I  ever 
knew  of  the  fate  of  the  Esmeralda  until,  in  God's  good 
time,  I  met  Stanhope  on  board  the  Falcon." 

"  Then  the  manner  of  Enid's  rescue  is  conjectural  ?  " 
"Absolutely.  But  Stanhope,  who  is  a  sailor,  and 
two  men  named  Spence  and  Jones,  who  were  Brand's 
colleagues  on  the  Gulf  Rock  at  that  time,  have  helped 
me  in  building  up  a  complete  theory.  It  is  quite  clear 
that  the  second  boat  did  not  sink,  as  was  reported  by 
the  captain  of  the  John  S.  She  was  damaged,  and  had 
her  mast  broken,  by  the  collision.  In  the  darkness  and 
confusion  she  would  be  readily  carried  past  the  barque, 
which  was  probably  traveling  four  knots  an  hour.  The 
two  sailors,  in  springing  from  her  gunwale  into  the  bob- 
stays,  would  certainly  cant  her  considerable,  and  at 
that  instant  my  poor  wife  either  threw  her  child  into  the 
boat  with  a  last  frenzied  effort,  or  someone  caught  the 
baby  from  her  as  she  sank.  The  boat  was  seen  by 
Brand  floating  in  with  the  tide  on  the  morning  of  the 
[308] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

30th  of  July.  She  had  been  nine  days  at  sea.  Some 
survivor  must  have  given  the  little  one  nourishment  in 
that  time,  as  a  twelve-months-old  child  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  lived.  In  all  likelihood,  the  bank  of  fog 
clung  to  the  surface  of  the  sea  and  followed  the  tides, 
as  there  was  little  or  no  wind  on  the  days  following  the 
loss  of  the  yacht.  Again,  there  were  provisions  in  the 
boat,  but  no  water.  Why?  Either  the  water-casks 
had  started  their  staves  when  the  smash  took  place,  or 
a  careless  steward  had  failed  to  fill  them.  The  next 
thing  is  the  identity  of  the  boat.  By  the  stupidity  of  a 
sailor,  one  of  the  Esmeralda's  life-boats  was  burnt  to 
the  water's  edge  in  Norway.  He  upset  a  tin  of  petro- 
leum whilst  he  was  opening  it,  and  a  lighted  match  did 
the  remainder.  Indeed,  he  and  another  man  at  the  oars 
narrowly  escaped  death.  A  boat  was  purchased,  but 
accident  or  mischance  prevented  the  Esmeralda's  name 
being  painted  on  it.  There  was  a  Norwegian  port  num- 
ber on  the  stern-board,  and  this  was  smashed  away  by 
the  falling  mast.  As  the  sail  was  trailing  in  the  water 
when  the  boat  was  found  by  Brand,  it  is  assumed  that 
the  survivor  or  survivors,  who  paid  some  heed  to  the 
child,  suffered  from  injuries  which  prevented  him  or 
them  from  hauling  it  in.  One  man's  body  was  found 
on  board  and  he  had  been  dead  many  days.  Finally, 
we  have  the  evidence  of  the  child's  clothing." 

"The  girls  told  me  something  of  the  story  on  the 
rock,"  said  Pyne.  "Gee  whiz!  I  little  dreamed  that 
Enid,  or  Edith,  I  mean,  was  my  first  cousin." 

"  You  know  that  her  garments  were  marked  E.  T., 
[309] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

and  that  a  little  shawl  was  pinned  about  her  with  a  gold 
brooch  set  with  emeralds  arranged  as  a  four-leafed 
shamrock  ?  " 

"  No.  I  fancy  that  they  were  hindered  in  their  yarn. 
Believe  me,  there  was  always  enough  to  do  in  that  won- 
derful place.  Besides,  I  knew  about  the  brooch.  Had 
they  mentioned  it,  I  guess  the  gray  matter  at  the  back 
of  my  head  would  have  become  agitated  by  thought." 

"  Yes,  of  course.  I  am  talking  to  you  as  if  you  were 
hearing  this  sad  history  for  the  first  time." 

"It  is  new  enough.  It  has  a  fresh  point  of  view, 
which  is  everything.  Now,  about  that  brooch?" 

"I  bought  it  in  Bergen.  I  remember  your  poor 
father  laughing  about  it.  It  was  odd  to  find  an  Irish 
emblem  in  that  out-of-the-way  little  town.  I  have  not 
seen  it  yet,  but  it  is  ludicrous  to  think  that  so  many 
coincidences  can  affect  two  different  children  cast  adrift 
about  the  same  time  in  open  boats  at  the  junction  of  the 
St.  George's  Channel  and  the  North  Atlantic." 

"  It's  the  kind  of  thing  that  doesn't  occur  with  monot- 
onous regularity,"  agreed  Pyne.  "  By  the  way,  I  have 
just  made  an  interesting  discovery  on  my  own  account." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It  might  easily  have  happened  that  not  Enid  — 
sorry  —  I  mean  Edith  —  but  I  should  have  been  the 
youngster  cast  adrift  in  that  boat. " 

"Yes,  that  is  so,  of  course." 

"  And  I  would  have  grown  up  as  Constance's  brother. 
Guess  things  have  panned  out  all  right  as  it  is." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  uncle's  tongue  to  ask  for  some 
[310] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

explanation  of  the  very  gratified  tone  in  which  Master 
Charles  made  this  remark,  but  the  head  waiter  entered, 
solemnly,  with  the  air  of  respectful  and  discreet  deco- 
rum which  only  an  English  family  butler  or  a  head 
waiter  can  assume  without  burlesque. 

"Beg  pardon,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "but  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  know  about  the  lady  in  No.  11,  Mrs. 
Vansittart." 

"  Yes,  what  of  her  ? "  demanded  Traill,  whilst  Pyne 
found  himself  imagining  that  which  caused  his  heart  to 
beat  more  rapidly  than  even  the  fight  for  life  in  the 
saloon  of  the  Chinook. 

"She  went  out,  sir,  about  an  hour  ago,  and — " 

"  Has  she  not  returned  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  A  policeman  has  just  called  to  say  that 
she  was  taken  ill,  and  is  now  bein'  cared  for  at  Mr. 
Brand's  house." 

Uncle  and  nephew  glared  at  each  other  as  men  do 
when  they  call  the  gods  to  witness  that  no  madder  words 
could  be  spoken.  Before  the  waiter,  they  perforce  re- 
strained themselves. 

But  Pyne  shouted: 

"  Where  is  the  policeman  ?  " 

"  He  is  down  below,  sir.     Shall  I  bring  him  up  ?  " 

Sergeant  Jenkins,  however,  was  too  loyal  in  his 
friendship  to  Brand  to  tell  them  exactly  how  it  came 
about  that  Mrs.  Vansittart  was  sheltered  in  Laburnum 
Cottage.  He  admitted  that  he  directed  the  lady  to  the 
house  in  the  first  instance,  and  that  Mr.  Brand  told  him 
subsequently  to  convey  the  stated  message  to  the  hotel. 
[311] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Nevertheless,  he  was  the  richer  for  a  sovereign  as  he 
went  out. 

Mr.  Traill  helped  himself  to  a  whiskey  and  soda. 

"Here's  to  the  reconciliation  of  Brand  and  his  wife," 
he  said,  with  a  lighter  tone  and  more  cheerful  manner 
than  he  would  have  deemed  possible  five  minutes 
earlier. 

Pyne  followed  his  example. 

"Say,  uncle,"  he  cried,  "here's  a  queer  item.  When 
I  first  met  Constance  I  spoke  of  Mrs.  Vansittart,  and  I 
called  her  my  prospective  step-aunt." 

"A  d d  silly  name,  too." 

"Constance  seemed  to  think  that,  or  its  feminine 
equivalent.  She  corrected  me,  'You  mean  your  fian- 
cee's aunt,'  she  said." 

"Oh,  did  she?" 

"Yes,  and  here's  to  her  being  my  fiancee's  mother." 

With  the  morning  came  doubt.  A  maid,  who  was 
given  charge  of  the  two  children,  told  Pyne  that  Mrs. 
Vansittart  had  been  greatly  upset  the  previous  evening. 
The  girl  was  sure  that  the  lady  had  passed  nearly  an 
hour  in  tears  kneeling  by  the  side  of  her  bed.  Then, 
having  regained  control  of  herself  to  some  extent,  she 
rang  for  the  maid  and  asked  at  what  time  the  first  train 
left  for  London  next  day.  She  ordered  her  breakfast 
at  an  hour  which  seemed  to  indicate  her  intention  to 
depart  by  that  train,  said  that  she  would  leave  instruc- 
tions with  Mr.  Pyne  concerning  the  children,  and  gave 
the  maid  two  letters  which  she  had  written.  These 
[312] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

were  to  be  delivered  at  nine  o'clock.  It  was  now  nine 
o'clock.  What  was  to  be  done  with  the  letters  ? 

As  they  were  addressed  to  Pyne  and  his  uncle  re- 
spectively, he  soon  settled  that  point. 

His  letter  read: 

"Dear  Mr.  Pyne  —  I  am  leaving  for  London  quite 
early,  so  I  will  not  see  you  again  in  Penzance.  I  have 
supplied  the  little  girls  with  all  the  garments  they  will 
need  during  the  next  few  days.  If,  on  inquiry,  you 
ascertain  that  they  have  no  relatives  anxious,  not  merely 
willing,  to  take  charge  of  them,  I  shall  be  most  pleased 
to  assume  that  responsibility.  In  that  event,  kindly 
write  to  me,  care  of  my  bankers. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

E.  VANSITTART." 

The  communication  to  his  uncle  was  equally  brief. 
Mr.  Traill  read  it  to  him.  It  ran: 

"Dear  Mr.  Traill  —  I  cannot  marry  you.  Please 
forgive  me.  I  did  not  realize,  when  you  honored  me 
with  your  proposal,  that  an  insuperable  obstacle  ex- 
isted. That  is  all  —  a  lame  explanation  —  but  com- 
plete so  far  as  it  goes.  A  woman  who  has  wrecked  her 
life  finds  it  hard  to  choose  her  words. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

E.  VANSITTART." 

They  discussed  these  curt  notes  during  breakfast. 

"  I  do  not  like  their  tone,"  said  Mr.  Traill,  gravely. 
"They  impress  me  as  the  hurried  resolutions  of  a 
woman  driven  to  extremities.  Were  it  not  for  her  re- 
quest about  the  children,  I  should  think  what  you 
[313] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

thought  last  night,  Charlie,  when  that  policeman  turned 
up." 

"I  must  have  telephoned  my  ideas  to  you  mighty 
quick,"  was  the  retort. 

"  My  dear  boy,  even  at  this  moment  we  don't  know 
what  she  intended  to  do.  Why  did  she  go  out  ?  What 
is  the  nature  of  her  sudden  illness  ?  How  comes  it  that 
she  is  at  Brand's  house  ?  " 

"I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  think  we  will  be  given 
answers  to  all  your  questions  in  due  time.  Nothing 
really  serious  can  be  amiss,  or  we  should  have  heard  of 
it  from  Brand  himself.  Now,  will  you  remain  on  guard 
here  whilst  I  go  out  with  Elsie  and  Mamie  ?  The  one 
thing  that  matters  in  their  little  lives  this  morning  is 
that  I  shall  hurry  up  and  go  doll-hunting  with  them." 

"  I  will  hold  the  fort  until  you  return.  You  will  not 
belong?" 

"  Perhaps  half  an  hour.  Whilst  I  am  out  I  will  make 
some  inquiries  as  to  the  condition  of  our  other  friends 
of  the  Chinook." 

"By  the  way,  many  of  them  must  be  destitute.  It 
is  my  desire,  Charlie,  to  pay  the  expenses  of  any  such  to 
their  destination,  and  equip  them  properly  for  the 
journey." 

"  You  are  a  first-rater,  uncle,  but  it'll  make  your  arm 
tired  if  you  O.K.  the  bill  all  the  time.  Now  here's  a 
fair  offer.  Let  me  go  halves." 

"Be  off,  you  rascal.  You  are  keeping  two  ladies 
waiting." 

With  seeming  anxiety  to  atone  for  the  excesses  of  the 
[314] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

week,  the  weather  that  morning  justified  the  claim  of 
Cornwall  to  be  the  summer  land  of  England.  The  sun 
shone  from  a  blue  sky  flecked  with  white  clouds.  The 
waters  of  Mount's  Bay  sparkled  and  danced  in  minia- 
ture wavelets.  The  air  was  so  mild,  the  temperature 
so  equable,  that  it  was  hard  to  credit  sea  and  wind  with 
the  havoc  of  the  preceding  days. 

The  Gulf  Rock  disaster  did  not  stand  alone  in  the 
records  of  the  hurricane.  Even  the  day's  papers  con- 
tained belated  accounts  of  casualties  on  the  coasts  of 
Normandy,  Holland,  and  far-off  Denmark.  But  no- 
where else  had  there  been  such  loss  of  life,  whilst  re- 
newed interest  was  evoked  by  the  final  relief  of  all  the 
survivors. 

Pyne's  appearance  outside  the  sitting-room  was 
hailed  with  a  yell.  Notwithstanding  her  own  perplexi- 
ties, Mrs.  Vansittart  had  taken  good  care  that  the  chil- 
dren were  well  provided  for.  They  were  beautifully 
dressed,  and  the  smiling  maid  who  freed  them  from 
control  when  the  door  opened  said  that  they  might  go 
out  without  jackets,  the  day  was  so  fine. 

He  descended  the  stairs,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth 
and  a  delighted  youngster  clinging  to  each  hand. 

In  the  hall  he  encountered  a  dozen  journalists  waiting 
to  devour  him.  They  had  failed  to  penetrate  the  stra- 
tegic screen  interposed  by  the  head  waiter.  Now  the 
enemy  was  unmasked  and  they  advanced  to  the  attack. 

Pyne  was  ready  for  them.  He  had  already  outlined 
his  defence. 

[315] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  Will  one  of  you  gentlemen,  representing  all,  kindly 
give  me  a  word  in  private  ?  "  he  asked. 

This  was  readily  agreed  to. 

"  Now  this  is  the  deal  I  will  make,"  he  said,  when  the 
two  were  isolated.  "I  will  meet  you  all  here  in  an 
hour's  time.  I  will  be  interviewed,  sketched,  snap- 
shotted, give  you  locks  of  my  hair,  my  autograph,  my 
views  on  the  Far  East,  the  next  Presidential  election, 
and  the  fiscal  question,  if  you  bind  yourself  to  one 
thing." 

"And  that  is?" 

'*  Among  the  passengers  saved  from  the  Chinook  is  a 
Mrs.  Vansittart.  She  is  very  ill,  and  is  being  cared  for 
by  Mr.  Brand  and  his  daughters.  Make  no  reference 
to  her  in  any  way  whatever  beyond  including  her  name 
in  the  published  lists.  Promise  that  and  I'll  talk  a 
page." 

"I  am  sure  I  can  agree  without  consulting  my  col- 
leagues," said  the  surprised  reporter. 

"Come  along,  kids,"  said  Pyne.  "I  am  delivered 
bound  to  the  torture." 

He  passed  out  into  the  street,  when  Elsie's  sharp 
eyes,  searching  for  a  shop,  suddenly  caught  sight  of 
Enid  hurrying  towards  the  hotel. 

The  child  ran  to  meet  her,  and  Enid,  flushed  with 
excitement,  began  to  explain  that  Mrs.  Vansittart  was 
in  bed,  suffering  from  collapse  and  in  a  feverish  state. 
The  doctor's  verdict  was  that  she  was  in  some  danger, 
but  would  recover  if  carefully  tended  and  kept  in  abso- 
lute quiet. 

[316] 


Enid  Wears  an  Old  Ornament 

"Is  Constance  with  her?"  asked  Pyne. 

"Yes." 

"  And  where  is  Mr.  Brand  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  here  soon.  He  asked  me  to  call  —  and 
tell  you  —  and  Mr.  Traill  —  what  had  happened." 

Enid's  speech  was  not  prone  to  trip.  Pyne's  eyes 
gleamed  into  hers. 

"Mr.  Brand  asked  you  to  see  my  uncle?"  he  said 
cautiously." 

"Yes,"  she  faltered. 

"Did  he  say  anything  else?" 

"  Yes  —  cousin." 

"  Let  me  take  you  right  in.  I  guess  it  would  make  a 
sensation  if  I  —  here,  Mamie,  just  hug  Miss  Enid  good 
and  hard  for  me,  will  you  ?  " 

Whilst  the  children  waited  in  the  hall,  he  accompa- 
nied the  girl  up  the  stairs  and  threw  open  the  door  of 
the  sitting-room. 

"  Here  is  somebody  you  want  to  see,  uncle  ?  "  he  cried, 
and  rejoined  the  little  ones. 

"Hoo-roosh!"  he  yelped.  "Now  let's  buy  a  toy- 
store." 

Enid  and  her  father  faced  each  other  for  some  seconds 
in  silent  bewilderment.  Then  Mr.  Traill  rose  and 
came  near  to  her.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do  or  say. 
This  tall,  stately  man  was  one  who  should  be  dearer  to 
her  than  anyone  else  in  the  world.  She  was  his  daugh- 
ter, yet  they  were  strangers  one  to  the  other. 

"I  —  I  — "  How  could  she  utter  conventional 
words  in  such  a  moment  ?  Her  lips  quivered  and  tears 
[317] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

trembled  in  her  eyes.  Then  he  knew.  The  lace  around 
her  white  neck  was  fastened  with  a  little  gold  brooch 
bearing  a  four-leafed  shamrock  in  emeralds.  He 
looked  at  her  with  a  profound  reverence,  and  caught 
her  by  the  shoulders. 

"My  dear,"  he  murmured,  "you  are  very  like  your 
mother." 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  and  kissed  him. 


[318] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  HOUSE  THAT  STOOD   UPON  A 
ROCK 

A  WEEK  passed.  In  the  fickle  memory  of  the  outer 
world  the  story  of  the  Gulf  Rock  lighthouse  was  be- 
coming mellow  with  age.  Men  now  talked  of  war  in 
Africa,  of  the  Yellow  Peril,  of  some  baccarat  squabble 
in  a  West-end  club.  But  its  vitality  lingered  in  Pen- 
zance.  There  were  side  issues  which  Pyne's  device  had 
kept  from  the  public  ken,  but  which  the  town's  folk 
pondered.  Lady  Margaret  Stanhope,  obeying  her  son's 
behests,  tantalized  her  friends  by  smiling  serenely  and 
telling  them  nothing  when  they  pestered  her  with  ques- 
tions. That  is  to  say,  she  spoke  not  one  word  about 
the  lady  who  was  being  nursed  back  to  health  in  the 
lighthouse-keeper's  cottage,  but  filled  their  souls  with 
bitterness  when  she  hinted  at  marvels  concerning  Con- 
stance and  Enid. 

In  such  a  small  place,  where  every  man's  affairs  are 
canvassed  by  his  neighbors,  it  was  impossible  to  prevent 
an  atmosphere  of  mystery  from  clinging  to  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart.  Again,  the  gossips  were  greatly  concerned 
about  Enid.  For  a  young  woman  "in  her  position" 

[319] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

to  be  engaged  to  an  officer  in  the  Royal  Navy  and  ad- 
mitted to  the  sacred  ranks  of  the  aristocracy  was  a  won- 
derful thing  in  itself.  But  that  she  should  be  on  open 
terms  of  the  greatest  intimacy  not  alone  with  the  elderly 
Mr.  Traill,  but  with  his  good-looking  nephew,  even 
calling  the  latter  "  Charlie  "  and  treating  him  as  a  near 
relative,  was  an  amazing  circumstance  only  surpassed 
by  the  complacency  with  which  Lady  Margaret  and 
her  son  regarded  it. 

The  actors  in  this  comedy  seemed  to  be  sublimely 
indifferent  to  public  opinion.  That  was  the  worst  of 
it.  Enid  was  escorted  about  the  town  by  each  and  all 
of  the  men  at  all  hours.  Now  she  was  at  the  hospital, 
cheering  Bates  and  Jackson  or  the  injured  people  from 
the  wreck,  now  arranging  for  the  departure  of  some  of 
the  poorer  survivors  when  they  were  able  to  travel,  now 
flitting  over  to  Marazion  to  see  Jim  Spence,  and  once 
actually  visiting  Mr.  Jones,  the  inn-keeper. 

At  last  a  part  of  the  secret  eked  out.  Enid  went  with 
her  father  to  ask  how  Mr.  Emmett,  the  sick  chief  offi- 
cer, was  getting  on.  They  found  him  smoking  in  the 
front  garden  of  the  house  in  which  Brand  had  lodged 
him. 

He  started  when  he  saw  them  approaching,  and 
his  weather-beaten  face  wore  the  puzzled  look  with 
which  he  regarded  Enid  one  night  on  the  lighthouse 
stairs. 

Traill  noticed  the  sailor's  covert  glances  at  Enid,  so 
he  said: 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Emmett,  you  were  on  the  Britannic 
[320] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

when  my  wife  and  I,  her  sister,  and  two  children,  came 
to  England  before  the  Esmeralda  was  lost?" 

"Yes,  sir."     He  paused. 

During  many  an  Atlantic  crossing  he  and  Mr.  Traill 
had  talked  of  that  last  joyous  journey,  when  he,  a  boy 
who  had  just  joined  the  service,  sat  at  their  table,  as  was 
the  custom  of  junior  officers  in  those  years. 

Mr.  Traill  smiled.  He  knew  what  was  in  the  other 
man's  mind. 

"  Do  you  see  a  likeness  in  this  young  lady  to  anyone 
you  have  ever  known  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hope  it  will  not  hurt  your  feelings,  and 
it's  a  good  many  years  ago  now,  but  I  could  have  sworn 
—  well,  I  must  out  with  it.  She  is  the  living  image  of 
your  wife." 

"  Indeed,  that  cannot  hurt  my  feelings,  as  she  is  her 
daughter." 

"Her  daughter!    Your  daughter!"  gasped  Emmett. 

A  small  serving-maid,  with  the  ears  of  a  rabbit,  was 
listening  spell-bound  at  the  open  window.  Here,  in- 
deed, was  a  choice  tit-bit  for  the  milkman,  and  the  post- 
man, and  the  butcher's  and  grocer's  boys.  From  this 
lower  current  the  stream  of  talk  flowed  upwards  until 
it  reached  the  august  drawing-room  of  Mrs.  Taylor- 
Smith. 

She  drove  in  frantic  haste  to  Lady  Margaret's  villa, 
and  fired  questions  broadside. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jack's  mother,  suavely.  "  It  is  quite 
true.  Of  course  I  have  known  it  from  the  first.  Ac- 
cording to  present  arrangements  the  marriage  will  take 
[321] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

place  in  the  spring.     Enid's  marriage  settlement  will  be 
nearly  quarter  of  a  million." 

Like  most  women,  she  loved  that  word.  A  million, 
even  in  fractions,  is  so  glib,  yet  so  unattainable. 

The  only  person  who  was  slightly  dissatisfied  with 
the  progress  of  events  was  Pyne.  Constance  never 
appeared.  She  shared  with  Mrs.  Sheppard  the  care  of 
her  mother.  Enid,  blithe  and  guileless  in  the  public 
eye,  did  the  house-keeping  and  represented  the  house- 
hold. 

Brand,  too,  save  for  a  couple  of  visits  to  the  hotel,  re- 
mained invisible.  He  did  not  mention  Mrs.  Vansit- 
tart's  name.  He  was  pale  and  worn,  a  man  at  war 
with  himself.  The  young  Philadelphian  —  for  Pyne's 
family  home  was  in  the  Quaker  City,  though  his  estate 
lay  principally  in  New  York  —  was  not  pleased  by  the 
slight  signs  perceptible  behind  the  screen  of  Brand's 
reserve. 

"  Constance  takes  after  her  father,"  he  told  himself. 
"There  may  be  trouble  about  her  mother.  In  the 
scurry  I  may  get  left.  I  must  think  this  out." 

At  last  came  a  day  of  warm  sunshine,  when  Enid  an- 
nounced that  the  invalid,  by  the  doctor's  orders,  was 
carried  downstairs. 

"  Has  Mr.  Brand  seen  her  yet  ? "  asked  Pyne. 

"No,"  replied  Enid,  with  a  little  cloud  on  her  fair 
face.  "  He  never  mentions  her.  And  how  we  wish  he 
would.  He  is  suffering,  but  keeps  silent,  and  neither 
Constance  nor  I  can  make  any  suggestion." 

"  But  what  will  be  the  outcome  ?  " 
[322] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

"How  can  I  tell?  That  night  —  after  we  left  the 
hotel  —  he  told  us  the  story  of  his  married  life.  It  did 
not  seem  to  be  utterly  impossible  to  straighten  matters, 
but  we  knew  nothing  of  her  career  during  so  many  years. 
Was  she  married  again  ?  I  have  asked  my  father.  He 
believes  she  was,  but  is  not  certain." 

"Father"  was  Mr.  Traill;  Brand  remained  "dad." 
Thus  did  Enid  solve  the  difficulty. 

"Is  she  aware  that  Constance  knows  she  is  her 
mother  ?  " 

"We  think  so.  Indeed,  we  are  sure.  She  has  been 
so  ill,  and  is  yet  so  fragile,  that  we  dare  not  excite  her 
in  the  least  degree.  So  Constance  has  been  very  care- 
ful, but  every  look,  every  syllable,  shows  that  her 
mother  is  in  no  doubt  on  that  point." 

"It's  a  pretty  hard  nut  to  crack,"  said  Pyne.  He 
blew  cigar  smoke  into  rings.  Seemingly  the  operation 
aided  reflection. 

"Say,  Enid,"  he  went  on.  "If  the  weather  is  fine 
tomorrow,  do  you  think  Connie  would  come  out  for  a 
drive?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Certainly  she  needs  some  fresh  air. 
What  between  her  anxiety  and  her  mother's  illness,  they 
are  beginning  to  look  like  sisters." 

"Just  mention  to  Connie,  in  her  father's  presence, 
that  if  the  sun  shines  at  eleven,  I  will  be  along  in  a  dog- 
cart. Mrs.  Vansittart  will  be  downstairs  by  that 
time?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  if  Connie  comes  out  with  me,  you  just  find  an 
[323] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

errand  in  town.  Rope  Jack  into  the  scheme,  or  any 
old  dodge  of  that  sort.  Take  care  Mr.  Brand  knows 
of  it.  By  the  way,  send  Mrs.  Sheppard  out  too." 

"What  in  the  world  — " 

"You're  just  too  pretty  to  think  hard,  Enid.  It 
causes  wrinkles.  Do  as  I  ask,  there's  a  good  girl." 

Enid  was  delighted  to  find  that  Brand  strongly  sup- 
ported the  suggestion  that  Constance  should  take  the 
drive.  Pyne,  sharp  on  time,  drew  up  a  smart  pony  in 
front  of  the  cottage,  and  did  not  twitch  a  muscle  when 
Constance,  veiled  and  gloved,  ran  down  the  pathway. 

"Excuse  me  getting  down,"  said  Pyne.  "I  dis- 
pensed with  a  groom.  I  guess  you  know  the  roads 
round  here." 

She  climbed  to  the  seat  beside  him. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  take  this  trouble,"  she  said, 
and  when  he  looked  at  her  a  slight  color  was  visible 
through  the  veil. 

"How  is  your  mother?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

He  felt,  rather  than  saw,  her  start  of  surprise. 

She  did  not  expect  the  relationship  to  be  acknowl- 
edged with  such  sudden  candor. 

"She  is  much  better,"  she  assured  him. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  announced,  as  if  a  load  were 
off  his  mind.  And  then,  somewhat  to  her  mystifica- 
tion, he  entertained  her  with  the  news. 

Elsie  and  Mamie  had  quitted  Penzance  the  previous 
evening,  an  aunt  having  traveled  from  Boston  as  soon 
as  the  first  tidings  of  the  wreck  reached  her. 

"She  was  a  young,  nice-looking  aunt,  too,"  he  said, 
[324] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

cheerfully.     "And  I  was  powerful  fond  of  those  two 
kiddies." 

"The  association  of  ideas  might  prove  helpful,"  she 
suggested,  with  a  touch  of  her  old  manner. 

"That  is  what  struck  Elsie,"  he  admitted.  "She 
said  she  didn't  know  why  I  couldn't  marry  Aunt  Louisa 
right  off,  and  then  we  could  all  live  together  sociably." 

"  Oh !     And  what  did  the  lady  say  ?  " 

"She  thought  it  was  a  great  joke,  until  I  said  that 
unfortunately  I  had  made  other  arrangements.  Then 
she  guessed  her  nieces  had  got  a  bit  out  of  hand." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  poor  fellow  whose  arm  was  bro- 
ken? Enid  has  not  had  a  moment  to  give  me  details 
of  events  since  we  landed." 

From  that  point  their  conversation  dealt  with  gener- 
alities. Soon  the  girl  perceived  his  intent.  His  sole 
desire  was  to  place  her  at  her  ease,  to  make  her  realize 
that  no  matter  what  troubles  life  held  they  could  be 
vanquished  if  faced  with  a  smile.  She  responded  to  his 
mood,  and  enlivened  the  drive  with  comments  on  the 
people  they  met  and  the  houses  and  villages  they  passed. 
For  two  hours  the  world  went  well  because  it  was  for- 
gotten. 

Enid,  the  conspirator,  waited  until  the  pair  in  the 
dog-cart  were  out  of  sight.  Then  she  went  to  the  little 
room  at  the  back  of  the  cottage  where  Brand  pretended 
to  be  busily  engaged  in  compiling  a  scientific  account  of 
his  auriscope. 

"  I  am  going  out,  dad,"  she  said,  trying  to  appear  un- 
concerned. 

[325] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  laying  down  his  pipe. 

"I  only  came  to  tell  you  because  Mrs.  Sheppard  is 
out,  too." 

Obviously  Enid  was  determined  that  if  Pyne's  calcu- 
lations were  worth  anything  they  should  have  fair  play. 

"  Oh,"  he  commented  sharply,  "  but  the  maid  is  in  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  is  such  a  stupid  girl  in  some  things,  If 
—  if  our  guest  rings  you  will  hear  her.  Would  you 
mind  asking  Mary  what  it  is  in  case  she  gets  muddled  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  her.  She  was  pulling  on  her  gloves, 
and  vastly  bothered  by  a  refractory  button. 

"  If  I  hear  the  bell,  I  will  inquire,"  he  said,  and  she 
escaped,  feeling  quite  wicked. 

When  he  was  alone,  he  did  not  resume  his  task.  In 
the  next  room,  separated  from  him  only  by  a  brick  wall, 
was  his  wife.  A  wall !  Why  should  there  always  be  a 
wall  between  them  ?  It  was  not  of  his  building.  Had 
she  made  it  impassable  during  the  long  years?  And 
what  would  be  the  outcome,  now  that  Constance  was  in 
daily  communion  with  her  mother?  The  doctor,  in 
kindly  ignorance,  had  told  him  that  Mrs.  Vansittart 
was  convalescent  and  would  be  able  to  travel  in  a  few 
days.  In  response  to  a  question,  the  doctor  added  that 
the  lady  herself  asked  when  she  might  be  moved. 

What  was  her  plan  ?  Mr.  Traill,  that  day,  had  writ- 
ten him  a  sympathetic  letter,  mentioning  the  fact  that 
Mrs.  Vansittart  had  voluntarily  rescinded  her  promise 
to  marry  him,  and,  indeed,  judged  by  the  light  of  present 
knowledge,  had  determined  on  that  course  since  she 
first  knew  that  her  former  husband  was  living. 
[326] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

Suddenly  Brand  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  desk 
at  which  he  sat. 

"  The  young  dog ! "  he  growled.  He  had  in  fact  fol- 
lowed the  exact  mental  process  which  Pyne  mapped  out 
for  him.  The  letter,  the  drive,  Mrs.  Sheppard's  ab- 
sence, Enid's  uneasy  wriggling  at  the  door,  were  all 
parts  of  an  ordered  plan.  He  was  to  be  given  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  his  wife  and  disentangling  the 
twisted  strands  of  twenty  years.  He  rose  impatiently, 
and  paced  the  room,  quietly  withal,  lest  the  woman  in 
the  next  room  should  hear  him.  A  decision  had  been 
forced  on  him.  He  could  shirk  it  no  longer. 

"  Pyne  has  contrived  this,"  he  muttered.  "  He  thinks 
he  can  see  more  clearly  into  the  future  than  a  man  twice 
his  age.  Enid  is  in  the  plot,  too.  And  Connie!  No, 
not  Connie.  Dear  heart!  She  is  worn  with  anxiety, 
yet  she  has  never  once  mentioned  her  mother  to  me 
since  she  carried  her  into  the  house  like  an  ailing 
child." 

Back  and  forth  he  walked,  wrestling  with  the  prob- 
lem. See  his  wife  he  must,  and  before  she  quitted 
Cornwall.  Was  it  advisable,  in  her  present  state  of 
health,  to  take  her  by  surprise  ?  Pyne  evidently  thought 
so.  And  the  doctor!  Good  Heavens!  was  the  doctor 
in  the  thing,  too  ? 

At  last,  he  tugged  at  the  bell. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "ask  Mrs.  Vansittart  if  she  feels 
able  to  see  Mr.  Brand. " 

There;  it  was  done. 

Mary,  rosy-cheeked  and  soft  of  speech,  dreading  only 
[327] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

Mrs.  Sheppard's  matronly  eye,  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  sitting-room.  He  heard  her  deliver  his  message. 
There  was  no  audible  answer.  He  was  lamenting  his 
folly,  hoping  against  hope  that  no  ill  results  might  be 
forthcoming  to  the  invalid  thus  taken  by  surprise,  when 
he  caught  Mary's  formal  "  Yes'm,"  and  the  girl  came  to 
him. 

"  Please,  sir,"  she  said,  "  the  lady  says  she  is  anxious 
to  see  you." 

He  walked  firmly  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  entered. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  say  and  how  to  say 
it.  It  would  be  best  to  ask  his  wife  to  discuss  matters 
in  a  friendly  spirit,  and,  for  their  daughter's  sake,  agree 
to  some  arrangement  whereby  Constance  should  see  her 
occasionally.  There  need  be  no  tears,  no  recrimina- 
tions, no  painful  raking  through  the  dust-heaps  of  the 
vanished  years.  The  passion,  the  agony,  of  the  old 
days  was  dead.  Their  secret  had  been  well  kept.  It 
was  known  only  to  those  whom  they  could  trust,  and 
they  might  part  without  heart-burnings,  whilst  Con- 
stance would  be  spared  the  suffering  of  knowing  that 
her  mother  and  she  were  separated  forever. 

These  things  were  well  ordered  in  his  brain  when  he 
looked  at  his  wife.  She  was  seated  near  the  window, 
and  her  beautiful  eyes,  brilliant  as  ever,  were  fixed  on 
his  with  harrowing  intensity.  They  shone  with  the 
dumb  pain  of  a  wounded  animal. 

He  walked  towards  her  and  held  out  his  hand.  Her 
illness  had  brought  out  certain  resemblances  to  Con- 
stance. She  looked  younger,  as  some  women  do  look 
[  328  ] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

after  illness.  Surely  he  could  not,  even  had  he  har- 
bored the  thought,  use  cruel  words  to  this  wan,  stricken 
woman,  the  wife  whom  he  had  loved  and  for  whom  he 
had  suffered. 

"  Nanette,"  he  said,  with  utmost  gentleness,  "  do  not 
be  distressed.  Indeed,  there  is  no  reason  why  our 
meeting  should  be  painful.  It  is  better  that  we  should 
have  a  quiet  talk  than  that  we  should  part  again  in 
anger  and  bitterness." 

She  caught  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  Still  she  said 
nothing.  Her  large  eyes  gazed  up  at  him  as  if  she 
sought  to  read  in  his  face  the  thoughts  he  might  not 
utter,  the  memories  he  might  not  recall.  Her  lips  dis- 
tended. He  saw  her  mouth  twitching  at  the  corners. 

"Nanette,"  he  said  again,  though  his  voice  was  not 
well  under  control,  and  something  rose  in  his  throat  and 
stifled  him.  "  I  appeal  to  you  not  to  give  way  to  —  to 
emotion.  You  may  —  become  ill  again  —  and  I  would 
never  forgive  myself." 

Still  clinging  to  his  hand,  she  sank  on  her  knees  by 
his  side.  But  there  was  no  wild  burst  of  tears ;  her  sor- 
row was  too  deep  for  such  kindly  aid. 

"  Stephen,"  she  whispered  faintly,  "  I  cannot  ask  you 
to  forget,  but  you  have  spoken  of  forgiveness.  Can 
you  forgive?" 

He  bent  over  her  and  would  have  raised  her;  she 
clung  to  him  with  such  energy  that  he  desisted. 

"My  poor  wife!"  he  murmured,  "who  am  I  that  I 
should  deny  that  which  I  hope  to  obtain  from  my 
Creator." 

[329] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

"  But  — "  she  panted,  in  that  unnerving  whisper  — 
"  I  treated  you  so  vilely.  I  left  you  to  join  the  man  you 
had  fought  to  save  me.  I  deserted  my  husband  and 
my  child  for  the  sake  of  the  money  he  bequeathed  to 
me.  In  the  lust  of  wealth  I  strove  to  crush  you  out  of 
my  heart.  And  now  that  God  has  humbled  me  I  must 
humble  myself.  Stephen,  I  am  not  your  wife.  I 
obtained  a  divorce  — 

"Nanette,"  he  cried,  "I  cannot  bear  to  see  you 
kneeling  at  my  feet.  I  ask  no  revelations.  I  forgive 
you  any  wrong  you  may  have  done  me,  fully  and  freely, 
as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven." 

She  yielded  to  his  pleading  and  allowed  him  to  raise 
her.  For  an  instant  she  was  clasped  to  his  breast. 

"  It  would  be  happiness  to  die  in  your  arms,  Stephen," 
she  said  wildly.  "I  do  not  deserve  it,  I  know,  but 
Heaven  is  merciful." 

The  dreadful  idea  possessed  him  that  in  her  weak 
state  this  passionate  wish  might  be  granted. 

"  Nanette ! "  he  cried,  "  you  must  control  yourself.  If 
you  will  not  promise  to  sit  down  and  talk  quietly  I  will 
leave  you." 

She  obeyed  him  instantly. 

"I  don't  care  how  much  you  scold  me,"  she  said, 
"  but  you  must  not  go  away.  I  meant  to  see  you  before 
I  left  Penzance.  I  came  here  that  night.  I  looked 
through  the  window.  I  saw  my  daughter  and  her 
adopted  sister  listening  to  you  and  weeping  because  of  a 
mother's  shame.  Then  I  must  have  lost  my  senses.  I 
[330] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

ran  away.  I  remember  nothing  else  until  I  woke  up  to 
find  Constance  caring  for  me  —  in  your  house." 

He  tried  to  break  in  upon  the  trend  of  her  thought. 
This  was  by  no  means  the  line  he  had  intended  to  pur- 
sue. His  hope  was  to  soothe  and  calm  her,  to  part 
from  her  in  amity  and  without  giving  her  cause  to  de- 
plore a  loss  of  dignity. 

"I  am  only  too  pleased  that  when  illness  overtook 
you  you  were  committed  to  my  care  and  to  Constance. 
Poor  girl!  She  thought  you  were  dead." 

"Did  you  tell  her  that?" 

"No,  but  I  allowed  it  to  be  assumed,  which  is  the 
same  thing." 

"When  did  she  know  the  truth?" 

"  In  the  hotel  —  after  you  left  the  room.  I  had  to 
say  something.  It  was  —  better  —  for  you  —  that  I 
should  say  you  were  my  wife." 

"  So,  even  in  that  trying  moment,  you  strove  to  shield 
me  from  unjust  suspicions.  Stephen,  how  could  I  have 
acted  towards  you  as  I  did  ?  " 

Again  he  endeavored  to  lead  her  to  talk  of  the  future 
rather  than  the  past. 

"There  is  one  great  surprise  in  store  for  you,"  he 
said.  "  But  it  is  a  pleasant  one  in  every  way.  Enid  is 
Mr.  Traill's  daughter." 

"I  am  glad,"  she  said  simply.  "I  do  not  under- 
stand, but  you  must  tell  me  another  time.  Just  now, 
I  can  think  only  of  you,  and  of  myself.  You  must  lis- 
ten, Stephen.  I  will  do  all  that  you  demand,  hide  my- 
self anywhere,  but  you  must  know  everything.  When 
[331] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

we  parted,  when  I  deserted  you  to  nurse  a  dying  man, 
I  was  foolish  and  wilful,  but  not  wholly  abandoned. 
Nor  have  I  ever  been.  I  was  rich  enough  to  gratify  my 
whims,  and,  for  a  time,  I  lived  in  Paris,  on  the  Riviera, 
in  Florence  and  in  Biarritz.  But  I  was  always  meeting 
people  who  knew  you,  and,  although  my  wealth,  and 
perhaps  my  good  looks,  kept  me  in  a  certain  set,  I  felt 
that  our  friends  invariably  took  your  side  and  despised 
me.  That  embittered  me  the  more.  At  last  your 
father  died,  and  I  saw  some  vague  reference  to  your 
disappearance  from  society.  I  employed  agents  to  trace 
you.  They  failed.  Then  I  went  to  America  and 
lived  on  a  ranch  in  Nebraska,  where  I  obtained  a  di- 
vorce from  you  on  the  ground  of  desertion.  Deser- 
tion, Stephen!  That  was  the  plea  I  raised." 

She  gave  a  mocking  little  laugh.  Brand,  thinking  it 
best  to  fall  in  with  her  mood,  sat  hi  silence  on  a  chair 
which  he  had  drawn  close  to  the  window.  From  his 
house  he  could  see  the  wide  sweep  of  Mount's  Bay. 
The  Trinity  tender  was  steaming  out  from  the  harbor. 
It  struck  him  as  an  extraordinary  fact  that  this  was  the  day 
of  his  relief  had  he  served  his  full  two  months  on  the  rock. 

Today,  by  his  own  design,  the  second  era  of  his 
checkered  career  would  have  come  to  a  peaceful  close. 
Within  a  little  while  he  would  have  taken  Constance, 
and  Enid,  if  unmarried,  on  that  long-contemplated 
Continental  tour.  But  the  hurricane  came,  when  "  the 
blast  of  the  terrible  ones  is  as  a  storm,"  and  the  pillar, 
the  refuge  of  his  distress,  became  the  centre  of  influences 
destined  to  mold  his  life  afresh. 
[332] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  He  bowed  his  face  into  his 
hands.  He  heard  his  wife's  low,  sweet  voice  continue: 

"  I  lived  there  nearly  six  years.  Then  my  manager 
died.  He  was  an  Englishman  named  Vansittart. 
Within  a  month  his  wife  died.  There  was  some  fever 
about  the  place,  and  I  became  frightened.  A  longing 
for  the  old  life  seized  me,  and  I  went  East,  but  not  as 
Mrs.  Brand,  the  name  which  I  always  bore  in  Nebraska. 
I  had  done  with  it  and  with  you,  as  I  thought  —  Con- 
stance never  entered  my  mind  save  as  a  feeble  memory 
—  so  I  became  Mrs.  Etta  Vansittart." 

Brand  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her  again.  She 
was  speaking  now  in  a  curiously  subdued  tone.  She 
was  giving  evidence  against  herself,  and  giving  it  truly. 

"  In  Newport,  Saratoga,  and  the  Adirondacks  in  sum- 
mer, in  New  York  during  the  winter,  I  lived  in  a  drowsy 
content.  People  who  take  drugs  must  reach  that  state, 
but  their  condition  is  pitiable  when  they  are  aroused. 
Many  men  asked  me  to  marry  them.  I  laughed  at  the 
idea.  At  last  I  met  Mr.  Traill.  We  were  friendly  for 
quite  five  years.  I  came  to  Europe,  to  the  Engadine, 
where  I  found  that  Mrs.  Stephen  Brand's  troubled  life 
was  forgotten,  but  Mrs.  Vansittart,  the  rich  widow,  was 
popular.  There  I  saw  Mr.  Traill  again.  He  offered 
me  marriage,  and  I  fancied  it  would  be  well  to  ally  my- 
self with  a  man  so  distinguished  and  widely  known  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  I  did  not  love  him.  I  re- 
spected and  admired  him  —  that  was  all.  I  accepted 
him,  but  stipulated  that  I  should  go  back  to  the  States 
and  wind  up  my  affairs  there,  returning  to  Paris  for  the 
[333] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

wedding.  That  was  necessary,  if  I  would  maintain  my 
deception.  So,  Stephen,  after  a  lifetime  of  vagary  and 
wandering,  this  is  the  result.  I  am  bespattered  by  the 
mud  of  my  own  acts;  I  see  my  forgotten  daughter  grown 
to  beautiful  womanhood;  I  meet  my  husband,  whom  I 
might  have  loved  and  honored,  patiently  following  the 
path  into  which  my  neurotic  impulses  drove  him.  Ste- 
phen, do  you  think  my  punishment  is  completed?" 

The  bitter  self-condemnation  in  her  voice  was  not 
defiant  but  subdued.  She  had  traveled  far  in  spirit 
through  the  Vale  of  Tears  since  the  Gulf  Rock  barred 
her  onward  progress. 

Though  she  asked  a  question  she  seemed  to  expect  no 
answer.  Brand,  thinking  to  render  her  task  less  try- 
ing, was  still  looking  through  the  window  and  watching 
the  steady  churning  of  the  tender  towards  Carn  du  and 
thence  to  the  lighthouse. 

At  last  he  spoke: 

"When  I  entered  this  room,"  he  said,  "I  meant  to 
avoid  a  scene  which  must  have  been  as  exhausting  to 
you  as  it  is  painful  to  me.  Yet  as  it  happens,  it  is  well 
for  both  of  us  that  you  have  lifted  the  veil  from  what 
has  gone  before.  Now  it  should  be  dropped — for- 
ever." 

"Tell  me  what  you  wish  me  to  do.     I  will  obey." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  will  be  better  if  we  defer  a  final 
settlement  ?  You  have  already  taxed  your  frail  powers 
beyond  their  limit." 

"No,  Stephen.  Speak  now.  I  will  not  faint  nor 
yield  to  weakness.  I  will  live.  Have  no  fear.  Death 
[334] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

does  not  come  as  a  skilful  healer  of  the  wounded  con- 
science. It  may  be  sought,  and  I  have  thought  of  that. 
But  Constance  would  suffer,  and,  if  it  will  spare  her 
pain,  I  will  endure  to  the  end.  Surely  I  owe  her  that 
reparation.  I  committed  moral  suicide  once  in  my 
life.  Let  it  suffice!" 

The  fixed  plan  of  the  study,  with  its  carefully  ar- 
ranged phrases,  was  not  so  readily  acceptable  to  the 
man  now.  What  would  become  of  his  wife  if  he  drove 
her  forth,  this  time  of  his  own  accord,  to  live  in  mourn- 
ful solitude,  brooding  over  a  wasted  life  and  looking 
forward  only  to  an  occasional  visit  from  her  daughter  ? 

A  host  of  impossible  ideas  jostled  in  his  brain.  He 
strove  desperately  to  find  some  easy  way  of  suggesting 
the  settlement  which  appealed  to  him  as  the  fitting  one, 
but  his  soul  revolted  from  the  notion  of  formulating  a 
decree  of  banishment  against  this  etherial,  ghost-like 
creature  who  had  been  thrust  back  into  his  very  keeping 
from  out  the  heart  of  the  storm. 

He  stood  up  and  faced  her,  careless  whether  or  not 
the  stress  of  inward  conflict  in  his  eyes  belied  the  calm 
gravity  of  his  words. 

"Perhaps  you  are  stronger  than  I,"  he  said.  "We 
must  meet  again,  tomorrow  or  next  day.  Some  of  the 
young  people  will  be  returning  soon.  If  you  wish  it,  I 
will  not  tell  them  I  have  seen  you." 

"It  is  for  you  to  decide,  Stephen." 

She  seemed  to  be  quite  hopeless,  resigned  to  any  twist 
or  turn  of  fate.  Here  was  a  broken  woman,  indeed, 
and  the  spectacle  was  torturing.  He  had  never  under- 
[335] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

stood  her  as  a  bright  young  girl  and  a  bride  of  nineteen. 
He  did  not  understand  her  now.  A  man  of  his  oak-like 
qualities  could  not  grasp  the  nature  of  a  woman  who 
bent  as  a  reed  before  each  puff  of  wind. 

It  was  hard  to  utter  even  a  commonplace  farewell. 
She  held  him  by  her  very  helplessness.  But  the  rapid 
trot  of  a  horse  caught  his  ears,  and,  whilst  he  stood  ir- 
resolute, he  saw  Constance  alighting  from  the  dog-cart. 
His  wife  looked  out,  too.  They  heard  their  daughter 
laughingly  regret  that  she  could  not  ask  Mr.  Pyne  to 
luncheon  —  meals  were  irregular  events  just  then. 

Brand  felt  a  timid  hand  grasping  his,  and  a  choking 
sob  proclaimed  that  Constance's  mother  was  crying. 

He  stooped  with  a  motion  that  was  almost  a  caress. 

"Don't  cry,"  he  said.     "I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  I  can  bear  anything,  Stephen,"  she  sobbed,  "  if  only 
you  will  let  me  stay  with  you  forever." 

"  Do  you  mean  that,  Nanette  ?  "  he  gasped,  incredu- 
lously. 

"  I  have  prayed,  yes,  dared  to  pray,  that  it  might  be  so 
ever  since  I  saw  my  child.  She  has  brought  us  together 
again.  Let  us  not  part,  for  her  sake,  and  for  mine, 
Stephen,  if  it  is  not  too  late." 

So  Constance,  hastening  up  the  garden  path,  could 
not  believe  her  eyes  when  she  saw  her  father  lift  her 
mother  into  his  arms  and  kiss  her. 

Mary,  the  maid,  never  ceased  wondering  why  every 

other  member  of  her  sex  in  Laburnum  Cottage  should 

be  tearful  yet  ridiculously  happy  that  afternoon.     Mrs. 

Vansittart  wept,  and  Miss  Constance  wept,  and  Miss 

[336] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

Enid  wept  when  she  came  in,  whilst  Mrs.  Sheppard 
was  weeping  at  intervals  all  day. 

Nevertheless  they  were  all  delighted  in  their  woe,  and 
Mrs.  Sheppard,  although  she  cooked  a  tremendous  din- 
ner, never  scolded  her  once. 

It  was  also  a  remarkable  thing  that  the  invalid  lady 
should  insist  that  she  was  strong  enough  to  come  down- 
stairs that  evening.  She  did  not  eat  a  great  deal,  poor 
thing,  but  she  looked  ever  so  much  better,  and  seemed 
to  find  all  her  pleasure  in  gazing  alternately  at  the  mas- 
ter and  Miss  Constance,  and  in  listening  to  every  word 
they  said. 

In  the  garden,  next  night,  the  moon  being  now  very 
brilliant  indeed,  Pyne  said  to  Constance  that  the  step- 
aunt  idea  having  fizzled  out  he  guessed  that  the  lady  who 
figured  in  that  unclassified  degree  of  relationship  would 
pose  more  satisfactorily  as  a  mother-in-law. 

He  said  other  things  that  have  been  said  in  many 
languages  since  men  began  to  woo  women,  but  the 
phrases  are  hackneyed  save  to  those  who  listen,  and 
need  not  be  repeated  here. 

But  why  two  marriages  should  take  place  after  ex- 
traordinarily short  engagements,  no  one  in  all  Penzance 
knew  save  Lady  Margaret  Stanhope,  and  she,  mirabile 
dictu  (being  a  woman),  kept  her  counsel.  It  created  no 
end  of  a  sensation  when  Constance  was  described  in  the 
London  newspapers  as  "only  daughter  of  Sir  Stephen 
Brand,  Bart,  of  Lesser  Hambledon,  Northumberland." 
Local  gossip  quickly  exhausted  itself,  as  both  weddings 
took  place  in  London,  the  only  available  items  being 
[337] 


The  Pillar  of  Light 

the  magnificence  of  the  diamonds  given  to  Enid  and 
Constance  by  Mr.  Traill,  and  the  fact  that,  in  Con- 
stance's case,  "the  bride's  mother"  was  described  as 
"looking  charming  in  a  silver-gray  costume  trimmed 
with  point  d'Alencon  lace." 

Even  when  confronted  with  this  momentous  state- 
ment by  Mrs.  Taylor-Smith,  Lady  Margaret  only 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  purred: 

"A  romance,  my  dear,  a  romance  of  real  life." 

On  the  day  following  the  departure  of  two  happy 
couples  for  the  Continent  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pyne  to 
Italy,  Lieut,  and  Mrs.  Stanhope  to  the  Riviera,  with 
intent  to  meet  in  Rome  at  Easter  —  a  quieter  and  more 
sedate  couple  took  train  at  Waterloo  for  Southampton, 
bound  for  the  Far  West. 

Although  a  Nebraska  decree  of  divorce  does  not  hold 
good  in  English  law,  Lady  Brand  wished  to  be  married 
again  in  the  State  which  sanctioned  her  earlier  folly. 
Her  husband  agreed  readily.  Everybody,  including 
Mr.  Traill  and  Lady  Margaret,  had  arranged  to  turn 
up  at  the  north-country  mansion  in  May.  Provided 
there  were  no  hurricanes,  Sir  Stephen  thought  his  wife's 
health  would  benefit  by  the  double  sea  voyage,  and  he 
was  personally  delighted  to  see  the  New  World  for  the 
first  time  in  her  company. 

Their  steamer  sailed  from  Southampton  at  11  A.M. 
After  dinner  that  night  they  were  abreast  of  the  Gulf 
Rock,  and  Brand  pointed  out  to  his  wife  its  occulting 
gleam  from  afar. 

"It  makes  me  feel  very  humble,"  she  said,  after  they 
[338] 


The  House  That  Stood  Upon  a  Rock 

had  watched  its  radiance  darting  out  over  the  tumbling 
seas  for  a  long  time  in  silence. 

"  Why,  sweetheart  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  so  solemn,  so  intense  in  its  energy,  so  splendidly 
devoted  to  its  single  purpose." 

"  Now,  it  is  an  odd  thing,"  he  replied,  as  watchful  to 
check  her  occasional  qualms  of  retrospect  as  he  had 
been  during  many  a  long  night  to  keep  that  same  light 
at  its  normal  state  of  clear-eyed  brilliance,  "  but  it  does 
not  appeal  to  me  in  that  way.  It  is  winking  porten- 
tously, as  much  as  to  say  '  You  old  humbug,  there  you 
are,  leaving  me  after  all  these  years,  and  running  away 
with  your  own  wife.' ' 


THE    END. 


[339] 


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